FHE  UNKNOWN 
STEERSMAN 


IRENE  BURN 


THE    UNKNOWN   STEERSMAN 


THE  UNKNOWN 
STEERSMAN 


BY 

IRENE    BURN 

AUTHOR  OF  "GENEROUS  GODS" 


BRENTANO'S 

NEW  YORK 

1912 


(All  rights  resetvcd.) 


DEDICATION 

TO   ALL  THE   SET,  AND    ESPECIALLY   TO 
A.   B. 

A.  C. 

M.   B.  G.  AND 

K. 

IRENE  BURN 


2134223 


The  Unknown  Steersman 


CHAPTER    I 

THE  hill  station  lay  in  a  cup  of  the  Himalayas. 
It  was  not  quite  a  perfect  cup,  for  in  one  place 
the  steep  green  slopes  failed  their  complete  circle 
and  left  the  way  to  the  plains  open.  Here  alone 
the  eye  looked  downwards  instead  of  up,  and 
saw  far  below  a  wide  golden  expanse  cleft  by 
a  silver  sword -blade  that  meant  a  great  river. 

Few  troubled  to  stand  on  the  edge  of  the 
precipice  and  look  downwards.  Everybody  knew 
that  the  golden  plain  turned  into  molten  dust  on 
nearer  acquaintance.  Green  is  ever  a  favourite 
colour  in  India,  so  Society  lifted  its  eyes  up 
to  the  hills.  Society  in  the  tea-cup  was  always 
very  busy  over  its  work  and  its  pleasure.  Every 
year  when  the  hot  wind  began  to  devastate 
fields  and  gardens  and  complexions,  the  Govern- 
ment of  the  province  migrated  into  kindlier  hill 
regions  so  that  the  business  of  State  might  receive 
the  better  attention. 

In  the  mornings  the  secretariat  buildings 
hummed  with  activity.  In  the  afternoons  heads 


8  THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN 

of  departments  rode  up  and  down  the  hill  paths 
on  scrambling  ponies,  or  played  a  conscientious 
game  of  tennis  with  an  eye  to  increasing  girth. 
Under-secretaries  plunged  madly  about  the  flats 
playing  polo  with  officers  from  the  depot  or  men 
up  on  leave.  After  polo  they  upset  each  other 
from  canoes  into  the  lake,  and  then  drank  tea 
and  whisky -pegs  on  the  boathouse  veranda,  where 
the  station  met  at  dusk  for  bridge,  gossip, 
and  flirtation.  The  lake  nearly  filled  the  bottom 
of  the  tea-cup,  but  it  left  room  for  the  flats  with 
their  polo-grounds  and  tennis-courts,  a  row  of 
shops  and  a  ballroom.  Hotels  and  bungalows 
perched  on  shelves  dug  laboriously  from  the  hill, 
and  when  the  rain  fell  too  heavily  they  slid  down 
the  khud  into  the  waiting  lake. 

Eve  Lang  peered  between  the  wooden  balus- 
trades of  the  hotel  veranda.  Along  the  road 
beneath  her  coffin-like  litters  swung  under  the 
steady  jog-trot  of  the  coolies,  wild  hill-men  tamed 
for  the  season  to  the  bearing  of  burdens.  Her 
long,  idle  hands  held  sheets  of  notepaper  covered 
with  difficult  handwriting.  It  was  a  letter  from 
her  husband,  and  she  had  read  it  twice,  a  com- 
pliment she  seldom  paid  him.  Moreover,  not 
content  with  reading  it  twice,  she  was  conning 
it  over  now  in  her  mind  and  finding  no  small  dis- 
comfort in  it. 

As  she  looked  and  pondered,  four  coolies 
ceased  to  trot,  and  lowering  the  cross-bars  from 
their  shoulders  deposited  their  burden  on  the 


THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN  9 

ground  below.  Out  stepped  a  woman,  shaking 
her  crumpled  skirt,  and  with  upturned  face 
seeking  to  be  greeted  from  the  veranda.  Eve 
waved  her  letter  and  waited  for  the  footsteps 
on  the  creaking  staircase.  The  sound  came  in 
a  moment,  heralding  the  approach  of  a  woman 
with  the  unmistakable  stamp  of  Cheltenham 
upon  her.  Her  heels  were  just  a  little  too  high 
and  her  toes  just  a  shade  too  pointed  and  her 
hair  just  a  trifle  too  exuberant. 

She  drew  up  a  basket  chair  by  the  side  of 
Eve  and  proceeded  to  take  a  flamboyant  tur- 
quoise pin  from  her  sun  helmet. 

"  Post's  in,  I  see,"  she  began.  "  Any  news 
from  Gehenna?  I  don't  feel  it's  worth  while  to 
open  my  husband's  letters  nowadays.  Their 
entire  interest  centres  on  the  thermometer,  and 
I  really  can't  get  up  any  enthusiasm  over  tem- 
peratures some  one  else  is  grousing  at."  She 
laid  her  helmet  on  the  ground  and  proceeded  to 
poke  at  her  exuberant  head  with  fingers  and 
hatpin. 

"  You  look  as  if  you'd  had  worrying  news," 
she  continued.  "What  is  it?  Your  husband 
coming  up?  " 

"  Denis  can't  get  leave  till  September,"  said 
Mrs.  Lang  without  being  aware  of  her  com- 
panion's fleer.  "  But  it  is  his  letter  that  is 
worrying  me.  It's  about  a:  girl." 

Connie  Young  turned  from'  her  hairdressing 
with  a  giggle. 


10         THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN 

"  Surely  the  absorbed  Denis  hasn't  started  a 
hot -weather  flirtation?  The  wily  Mrs.  Com- 
missioner is  keeping  Clare  down,  I  hear.  Well, 
those  Indian  '  county  families  '  don't  feel  the 
heat  as  we  English  born.  But  I'm  surprised  at 
Denis." 

"Eve  flushed  a  little  angrily.  At  times  she  felt 
Mrs.  Young  a  trifle  too  vulgar. 

"  It  isn't  a  girl  in  India  at  all,"  she  returned 
coldly.  "  It's  a  kind  of  cousin  of  my  husband's, 
an  ingenue  straight  from  a  Lincolnshire  village. 
She  has  lived  under  a  clergyman's  care  all  her 
life,  and  now  he  is  dying  and  has  written  to  ask 
Denis  to  adopt  her." 

"  Perhaps  he  won't  die,"  suggested  Connie 
helpfully.  "  But  of  course  he  will,  padres  are 
always  annoying.  Can't  you  send  her  to  some 
nice  cheap  finishing  school?  " 

"  She  is  too  old  for  school— eighteen  last 
birthday.  And  as  for  finishing,  she  doesn't  seem 
to  have  been  begun  yet.  The  padre's  letter  has 
amused  even  Denis,  and  detached  his  mind  from 
Gonds  and  things  for  quite  five  minutes."  Eve's 
tone  was  a  little  bitter,  her  husband's  letter  was 
usually  but  a  grim  synopsis  of  grey  doings. 
Quite  early  in  her  married  life  she  had  realised 
that  Denis  never  seemed  to  need  or  claim  her 
presence.  She  had  begun  by  maintaining  with 
heroic  fervour  her  intention  to  "  stay  down  " 
with  him  in  the  hot  weathers.  Other  women  did 
it,  sacrificing  thereby  their  complexions  on  the 


THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN         11 

altar  of  duty.  But  Denis  welcomed  the  long 
hot -weather  days  for  the  leisure  they  gave  him 
to  devote  to  those  ethnological  studies  which 
were  the  background  of  his  strenuous  civilian 
life.  He  seemed  actually  horrified  at  the  prospect 
of  sharing  this  hot -weather  leisure  with  a  wife 
who  would  insist  on  wasting  it  in  feminine  ideas 
of  amusement.  So  after  a  first  hurt  protest,  Eve 
left  the  plains  every  March  and  spent  the  six 
hot-weather  months  in  a  hill  hotel. 

"The  letter  looks  vast,"  said  Connie;  "he 
seems  to  have  prepared  you  extensively  for  the 
kind  of  girl  you  are  to  expect." 

"  It  seems  that  her  parents  were  rather  awful 
people,  and  the  padre  has  brought  her  up  on  a 
system  of  his  own  guaranteed  to  defy  heredity 
and  produce  a  saint.  A  perfectly  appropriate 
training  for  a  Lincolnshire  village,  but  a  little 
wearing  for  her  future  chaperon,  I  imagine. 
Here  is  his  letter;  you'd  better  read  it."  She 
tossed  the  crumpled  sheets  of  foreign  notepaper 
to  her  friend,  who  read  them  with  increasing 
merriment. 

"  *  She  has  read  no  classics  ';  that  won't  hurt 
her,  rather  an  advantage ;  she  might  have  hurled 
improper  quotations  at  your  head.  Learned  girls 
never  possess  a  particle  of  tact  or  manners.  '  I 
have  never  permitted  her  to  peruse  novels.' 
Heavens  !  what  an  innocent !  But  it  isn't  true, 
of  course.  I  know  that  sly  type  of  good  girl— 
I  met  them  at  school.  She  probably  smuggled 


12         THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN 

them  into  the  house  and  hid  them  among  her 
linen,  French  novels  under  unbleached  calico 
trimmed  with  crochet.  '  She  knows  nothing  of 
the  evil  of  the  world.'  She  will  rather  match  you 
there,  Eve ;  for  a  married  woman  you  are  quite 
the  most  innocent  creature  I've  ever  met." 

Eve  was  hardly  listening,  she  had  taken  back 
an  odd  sheet  and  was  reading  it  once  again. 

44 1  hate  people  who  are  brought  up  on  systems, 
it  makes  them  so  self-conscious,  like  simple-life 
enthusiasts,  who  are  really  much  more  com- 
plicated than  ordinary  folks,  because  they  make 
such  a  business  of  living,"  went  on  Mrs.  Young. 
44  But  this  girl  is  so  young,  she  will  gladly  throw 
a  system  like  this  overboard.  You  may  find  your- 
self regretting  the  loss  of  it  in  time  when  she 
begins  to  get  in  your  way.  I  should  marry  her 
off  to  some  nice  old  crusted  civilian,  a  widower 
perhaps,  who  has  killed  his  first  wife  with  hot 
weathers  and  new  babies  in  the  plains." 

44  Even  that  kind  of  man  doesn't  want  to  marry 
a  raw  child,"  said  Eve,  although  she  brightened 
a  little  at  this  plan  for  transferring  a  burden. 
44  Denis  pretends  he  is  consulting  me,  but  of 
course  I  know  I  must  say  '  yes/  and  trust  that 
the  padre  won't  die  yet  and  spoil  this  hot  weather. 
I  only  hope  he  isn't  dead  already,  and  the  girl  on 
her  way  out  provided  with  a  Lincolnshire  village 
trousseau." 

44 1  should  write  at  once,"  advised  Mrs.  Young, 
14  if  you've  really  got  to  have  her,  and  tell  her 


THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN          13 

what  kind  of  an  outfit  she  needs.  Do  you  remem- 
ber that  strong-minded  cousin  of  the  Dunlops 
who  strode  about  in  sensible  boots  and  a  horrible 
tweedy  skirt  that  sagged  and  showed  the  outlines 
of  her  knees.  Implore  your  ingenue  not  to  be 
sensible  in  her  feet.  I  notice  that  in  some  women 
all  the  sense  runs  into  the  soles  and  toes  of  their 
boots  and  never  rises  again." 

Eve  began  to  conjure  up  a  blend  of  every 
caricature  of  the  learned  Englishwoman  and 
the  Englishwoman  abroad,  a  thing  of  bones  and 
boots  and  teeth.  Dress  is  likely  to  be  an 
important  factor  in  the  life  of  a  woman  who 
spends  six  months  of  her  year  houseless  and 
dutiless  on  a  hilltop,  where  there  is  not  even 
a  slum  to  attract  vague  aspirations  to  good 
works.  A  barren  life  for  many  women,  this 
of  the  hilltop,  but  Eve  had  not  chosen  it  of  her 
own  free  will  at  the  beginning.  Now  she  had 
grown  to  call  it  necessity. 

"  It  is  no  use  worrying,"  went  on  Mrs.  Young. 
"  Just  write  by  this  mail  and  tactfully  suggest 
stays  and  good  petticoats  and  decent  shoes,  and 
leave  the  rest  to  Providence.  Meantime  I'm 
dying  for  tea." 

"  Captain  Staniforth  is  coming  up  for  it.  I 
believe  that  is  his  pony  coming  round  the  corner." 
She  gathered  up  her  letter  with  a  sigh,  then 
with  an  effort  regained  optimism.  "  She  mayn't 
be  such  a  frump  after  all,  Connie." 

"  I  wouldn't  pray  too  fervently  for  her  to  be 


14         THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN 

beautiful,"  said  Mrs.  Young.  "  She  might  get 
in  your  way."  She  was  smiling  significantly  at 
the  chestnut  pony  that  stopped  under  the 
veranda.  Everything  about  Mrs.  Young  was 
over -emphasised,  even  to  the  assisted  line  of  her 
arching  brows,  which  seemed  to  find  and  give 
away  new  meanings  in  everything. 

"  I  shall  have  to  arrange  about  her  passage 
and  get  some  one  to  look  after  her,"  went  on 
Eve,  without  noticing  the  pony  or  the  smile.  "  A 
voyage  out  by  P.  and  O.  with  a  well -chosen 
companion  is  often  a  good  preparation  for 
India." 

The  outside  wooden  steps  creaked  again,  and 
the  typical  well-groomed  head  of  a  British  officer 
appeared.  There  must  be  something  about  the 
climate  of  India  which  bakes  men  and  women 
into  certain  moulds.  Nature  having  once  decided 
on  a  type,  uses  the  same  mould  over  and  over 
again,  and  it  is  possible  in  any  assembly  of  Anglo- 
Indians  to  guess  each  man's  department  from 
his  outward  appearance.  Famine  works,  hot 
weathers,  and  little  frontier  shows  work  their 
will  on  his  mental  apparatus,  but  his  exterior 
remains  true  to  its  type.  Externally  Captain 
Staniforth  was  exactly  like  a  thousand  others 
of  his  rank;  that  is  to  say,  he  was  lean  (majors 
are  stouter,  but  colonels  often  thin  again)  and 
brown  (subalterns  are  pinker,  and  colonels  yel- 
lowish), with  a  white  chin -strap  mark,  and  his 
legs  were  beautifully  moulded  into  Jodhpur 


THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN          15 

breeches.  Behind  him  trotted  a  white  fox-terrier 
with  flopping  tan  ears.  He  licked  Eve's  hand 
ecstatically  and  flopped  on  the  boards  at  her 
side  with  his  brown  eyes  fixed  unwinkingly  on 
his  master." 

'*  Did  I  hear  you  philosophising  over  the 
voyage  out?  "  he  asked,  depositing  his  long  form 
in  one  of  the  infirm'  chairs  that  lined  the 
veranda.  Anglo-Indians  never  shake  hands 
except  at  a  party,  and  his  easy  greeting  was  but 
a  nod.  "I  believe  women  enjoy  it;  I,  per- 
sonally, am'  bored  to  shrieks,  develop  a  liver 
and  have  to  skip,  a  loathly  form  of  exercise." 

"  I  never  can  really  enjoy  myself  on  board 
ship,"  said  Eve  sadly,  "  because  of  the  mis- 
sionaries." 

"  They  certainly  are  plain,"  he  assented,  "  but 
distinctly  worthy.  Anyhow,  they  don't  block  the 
whole  horizon.  How  do  they  interfere  with  your 
enjoyment?  " 

"  They  pray.  And  the  prayer  of  the  righteous 
availeth  much;  in  fact,  it  availeth  horribly." 

"  What  do  you  mean?  "  asked  Connie. 

"It  starts  with  my  smile  and  my  voice,"  ex- 
plained Eve.  "  You  may  have  noticed  that  I 
have  a  particularly  gentle  voice.  Then  when 
I  get  on  a  ship  I  'm  so  happy  that  I  smile  broadly 
on  every  one,  even  on  the  plain  but  worthy 
mission  lady  who  infests  Eastward-bound  ships. 
At  once  I  make  a  conquest,  each  female  mis- 
sionary falls  madly  in  love  with  me,  and  culti- 


16         THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN 

vates  my  acquaintance.  Then  after  Gibraltar, 
when  I  begin  to  disappear  forrard  to  look  for 
phosphorus,  and  aft  to  admire  the  wake — and 
always  with  the  same  man— she  begins  to 
interfere." 

"  I  should  say  that  you  were  capable  of  losing 
the  most  zealous  missionary  lady  on  the  way 
forrard  or  aft,"  said  Connie  dryly. 

"Oh,  she  doesn't  try  to  come  with  me;  she 
stays  behind  and  prays." 

"  But  how "  exclaimed  her  audience  in 

duet. 

"  Her  prayer  is  heard,"  replied  Eve  drama- 
tically, "  because  she  is  so  righteous.  The  man 
forgets  all  about  wakes  and  phosphorus,  and 
takes  to  bridge  in  the  smoking-room,  or  worse 
still,  chooses  some  one  else  to  disappear  with, 
and  I  have  to  begin  all  over  again.  I  wish  I 
wasn't  so  attractive  to  missionary  ladies,  or  else 
that  Providence  wouldn't  be  so  fussy."  Eve 
looked  sadly  at  the  teacups,  while  Staniforth 
admired  her  with  an  unabashed  gaze,  and  Mrs. 
Young's  eyebrows  seemed  to  proclaim  that  she 
knew  much  of  board-ship  flirtations. 

"  Pour  out  the  tea  quickly,  there's  a  dear," 
she  said.  "I'm  playing  bridge  at  the  boathouse. 
I  suppose  you  two  are  going*  on  the  lake?  Don't 
let  her  be  late  dressing  for  the  Moles  worths' 
dinner,  Captain  Staniforth.  They  live  miles  up 
the  khud.  Sheer  cruelty  to  invite  us,  I  think. 
You  are  going  too,  I  suppose?  "  She  did  not 


THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN          17 

wait  for  an  answer,  but  dispatched  her  tea 
quickly  and  disappeared  to  her  room  to  change 
her  sun  helmet  for  a  flowery  hat. 

When  she  had  finally  pattered  down  the  steps 
and  had  folded  herself  into  her  waiting  "  dandy," 
Captain  Staniforth  heaved  a  sigh  of  relief. 
"Thank  God  for  bridge!  "  he  said  fervently. 
"  Now  we  can  go  on  the  lake  and  really  talk." 


CHAPTER    II 

IT  is  an  unfortunate  truth  that,  so  far,  no  via 
media  has  been  discovered  in  feminine  educa- 
tion. Women  are  either  over-educated  or  totally 
uneducated.  The  over -educated  woman  takes 
her  learning  over-seriously,  viewing  her  know- 
ledge of  Greek  or  of  mathematics  as  an  earth- 
shaking  miracle.  When  she  is  snubbed  or  feels 
plain  she  finds  real  comfort  in  reminding  herself 
that  she  has  read  ^Eschylus,  while  her  pretty 
rival  opposite  can  with  difficulty  spell  English. 
She  sits  in  scornful  judgment  on  the  mind  and 
brain  of  her  uneducated  sister,  who  in  turn  con- 
demns the  educated  woman's  hats  and  boots. 

Such,  at  least,  is  the  position  in  England, 
but  Indian  Society  knows  little  of  the  over- 
educated  woman.  The  missionary  lady  is  often 
a  Girton  student,  but  the  missionary  as  a  social 
factor  counts  not  at  all.  Feminine  Anglo -India 
can  ride  and  shoot  and  bear  utter  loneliness 
and  heat  that  cannot  be  described.  She  is  fine 
at  a  crisis  and  a  marvellous  nurse  of  dread  sick- 
nesses. She  can  influence  Lieutenant -Governors 
or  a  Viceroy,  but  frequently  she  cannot  spell  ; 


THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN          19 

she  can  make  love  to  Chief  Secretaries,  but  she 
never  reads  a  line  except  the  colonial  edition  of 
the  latest  novel. 

Eve  Lang  was  a  woman  who  deserved  educa- 
tion. Greek  could  not  have  spoiled  her,  and  it 
would  have  afforded  a  way  of  escape  from  the 
chafing  straitness  of  a  woman's  interests.  But 
she  had  received  no  real  education  at  all.  Of 
course  she  had  been  to  school,  where  they  taught 
her  French  history,  and  painting,  and  music,  and 
to  read  Racine  and  Moliere,  whom  her  school- 
girl judgment  condemned  as  ranting  bores. 
Nothing  of  this  was  education,  and  she  emerged 
from  school  with  a  few  badly  assorted  rags  of 
knowledge  that  did  little  to  clothe  the  nakedness 
of  her  mind. 

Thus  she  had  no  background,  no  pleasant 
recesses  where  her  mind,  bruised  and  wearied 
by  the  ever-present  world,  might  find  rest  in 
quiet  communion  with  the  spirits  of  the  great 
dead.  The  contemplative  faculty  is  atrophied 
nowadays.  Eve  had  never  a  chance  of  possess- 
ing it.  If  she  had  lived  in  England  the  possi- 
bilities of  music  and  art  might  have  induced  a 
habit  of  contemplation,  but  Denis  Lang  met  her 
as  she  stepped  over  her  schoolroom  threshold. 
He  had  a  straight  nose,  romantic  dark  eyes,  and 
a  sufficient  income.  She  found  nothing  wanting, 
adored  him  immediately,  and  departed  for  India 
with  a  soul -satisfy  ing  trousseau. 

Her  trousseau  and  her  rags  of  education  were 


20         THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN 

all  she  had  in  hand  as  a  preparation  for  life. 
She  had  no  understanding  of  the  joy  in  wide 
spaces  and  unending  skies,  a  joy  which  India 
bestows  for  the  consolation  of  certain  of  her 
step -children,  bereft  of  their  English  lane.  She 
had  no  delight  in  books  that  were  not  novels, 
she  could  not  draw  or  play.  No  one  had  ever 
helped  her  to  understand  the  possibilities  of  an 
unawakened  brain,  no  one  had  taught  her  to  dig 
channels  for  the  better  cultivation  of  her  garden 
of  life. 

People  are  fond  of  discussing  the  nature  of 
a  woman's  handicap.  In  India  it  needs  no  dis- 
cussion, it  is  so  obvious  to  the  idlest  inquiry. 
A  woman's  handicap  is  her  leisure.  There  is 
little  to  fill  the  long  Indian  day.  In  an  up- 
country  station  there  are  no  theatres,  no  concerts, 
no  books  but  the  strange  conglomeration  of 
"  remainders  "  that  furnish  the  club  library. 
Little  is  left  but  the  open  air,  and  the  interest 
afforded  by  the  scaling  of  that  barrier  which  lies 
between  East  and  West.  Space  and  sky  can  win 
the  soul  of  a  man,  but  they  remain  alien  to  most 
women's  affections.  Eve  was  not  one  of  the 
few  of  her  sex  who  exulted  to  gallop  free  over 
a  wide  brown  plain  that  met  a  wide  blue  sky 
on  a  definite  horizon's  edge.  She  certainly  never 
wished  to  become  intimate  with  her  "  Indian 
sister,"  as  the  jargon  of  the  moment  put  it,  and 
she  pained  even  her  husband's  indifference  by 
lumping  all  Easterns  together  as  "  natives,"  a 


THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN          21 

word  freighted  with  curious  horror  for  those 
whose  due  it  happened  to  be. 

She  certainly  possessed  a  baby,  a  boy  of  three 
years,  but  unfortunately  the  interesting  moments 
of  an  infant's  life — those  of  his  bathing  time 
— came  when  society  gathered  at  the  Club.  A 
woman  who  was  a  sun  prisoner  for  most  of 
the  day  wanted  to  go  out  and  find  society  in  the 
evening,  and  in  India  this  is  only  to  be  gained 
at  that  general  meeting-place  for  both  sexes. 
Eve's  maternal  interest,  therefore,  remained 
unfed  by  daily  surprises  of  growth  and  by  un- 
veiled beauties  of  toes  and  fingers. 

But  there  is  always  one  unfailing  interest  open 
to  a  pretty  woman,  and  Eve  dabbled  earnestly 
in  what  she  ignorantly  called  "  platonic  affairs." 
Denis  made  the  mistake  common  to  many 
Anglo-Indian  husbands  ;  he  thought  that  the 
administration  of  the  British  Empire  was  more 
important  than  the  preservation  of  certain  leisure 
hours  for  the  benefit  of  his  wife.  He  really 
believed  he  was  doing  his  duty  when  four  o'clock 
left  him  still  wrestling  with  files,  so  that  his  wife 
must  needs  ride  and  drive  alone. 

No  woman  wishes  to  ride  and  drive  alone,  and 
other  women  are  rather  dull,  or  at  any  rate  very 
feminine,  so  the  wife,  widowed  by  the  file,  sends 
a  note  to  some  less  busied  worker  and  gains  her 
a  companion.  And  this  is  the  beginning  of 
scandals  :  nemo  repente — every  woman  begins 
by  feeling  aggrieved  because  her  husband  pays 


22         THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN 

more  attention  to  files  than  to  the  necessities  of 
her  evening  drive  or  her  game  of  tennis. 

Captain  Staniforth  helped  Eve  into  a  canoe 
and  arranged  the  soft  silk  cushions  he  had  had 
made  for  her.  Eve  luxuriated  in  small  atten- 
tions, and  she  smiled  gratefully  at  him  as  he 
took  up  his  paddle  and  pushed  off  from  the  little 
landing-stage. 

"  I  was  feeling  all  rasped  and  horrid,"  she 
said,  "  but  you  and  the  lake  have  smoothed 
me  down  and  made  me  wish  I  could  purr." 

"You  see  too  much  of  Mrs.  Young;  she's 
rather  rasping,  I  imagine." 

"  Her  rooms  are  next  mime,  you  see,  and  one 
is  so  caged  in  the  hills  ;  it's  necessary  to  love 
one's  neighbour,  for  one  can't  escape  her.  She 
amuses  me  sometimes,  though  I  know  she's 
vulgar." 

"  She  never  amuses  me.  Women  never  did 
interest  me  till  I  met  you."  His  ardent  tone 
struck  warm  at  Eve's  heart.  Staniforth  was 
exactly  what  she  needed,  some  one  to  look  after 
her  and  take  thought  for  her  whims  and  wishes, 
some  one  to  arrange  her  amusements  and 
engineer  delightful  little  surprises,  some  one  to 
play  the  devout  lover  without  undue  or  un- 
comfortable warmth. 

She  had  hardly  altered,  mentally,  since  the 
day  she  shut  the  schoolroom  door,  and  she  was 
delighted  to  find  herself  "  in  love  "  after  her 
realisation  of  married  dullness.  Staniforth  had 


THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN         23 

made  her  love  him  by  his  "  courtship  made 
perfect."  As  with  Browning's  lover,  it  was  a 
case  of  "  no  least  line  crossed  without  warrant," 
and  Eve  had  not  the  slightest  understanding  of 
the  progressive  nature  of  a  love  content  for  the 
moment  with  hands  clasped  or  a  kiss  lightly 
stolen  at  dusk.  When  she  mattered  so  little 
to  Denis  it  was  comforting  to  feel  that  she  meant 
so  much  to  this  man  that  he  even  neglected  polo 
for  her  sake.  She  understood  that  he  could 
hardly  have  given  a  greater  proof  of  devotion. 

He  really  ought  to  have  been  playing  at  this 
moment,  but  his  eyes  and  thoughts  were  too 
busy  to  regret  the  plunging  life  and  scattering 
hoofs  on  the  Flats  beyond  the  lake. 

"Do  you   like  girls?"  asked  Eve  abruptly. 

"Girls?  No.  I  bar  them.  They  always 
dance  vilely  and  never  get  their  programmes 
full,  but  stand  and  look  imploring  so  that  you 
have  to  pay  for  last  week's  dinner  and  ask  for 
a  pleasure  that  you  know  will  be  a  pain." 

"  There  1  That's  another  thing,"  exclaimed 
Eve  with  seeming  irrelevance.  "  I'm  certain 
that  system  never  allowed  anything  so  frivolous 
as  dancing  lessons,  and  of  course  she  has  never 
learnt  to  dance." 

"  Then  use  your  influence  to  prevent  her  look- 
ing imploring  in  the  ante -room.  I  don't  know 
who  '  she  '  may  be,  but  if  she's  a  girl,  of  course 
she  can't  dance.  There's  some  magic  in  the 
Marriage  Service,  for  no  girl  can  ever  dance 


24         THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN 

decently  and  all  married  women  can.  What's 
the  explanation?  " 

Eve  stared  tragically  at  the  sunset.  For  the 
moment  she  had  forgotten  the  disturbing  letter 
from  the  plains,  but  suddenly  Mrs.  Young's 
malicious  words  rang  again  in  her  ears.  The 
girl  might  "  get  in  her  way."  Her  swift  imagi- 
nation, illogical  as  ever,  blotted  out  the  picture 
of  the  new  cousin,  dowdy  and  a  frump,  and 
painted  her  in  a  new  pose,  young,  fresh,  with 
the  English  complexion  of  eighteen.  She 
watched  her  usurp  the  elder  woman's  meed  of 
admiration.  Eve  had  seen  it  happen  so  often, 
devotion  transferred  in  a  week  from  a  mature 
woman  to  some  pretty  pink  and  white  idiocy 
newly  arrived  by  the  mail. 

She  went  through  the  whole  gamut  of  despair, 
and  then  suddenly  burst  into  low  laughter  at  the 
sight  of  his  anxious  face. 

"I'm  not  cross  and  I'm  not  ill,"  she  hastened 
to  reassure  him.  "I'm  only  seeing  worried 
visions  of  something  that  may  never  happen. 
My  husband  has  a  girl  cousin  called  Celia 
Ferriby.  She  has  no  belongings  in  England 
except  an  old  guardian  who  is  very  ill.  If  he 
dies  she  will  be  left  alone  in  the  world,  and  we 
must  take  her." 

"  A  girl  !  What  a  horrid  nuisance  !  I  see 
precious  little  of  you  as  it  is  in  the  cold  weather. 
If  it  had  been  a  married  woman  it  wouldn't  have 
been  so  bad.  She'd  have  her  own  interests,  but 


THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN         25 

you've  got  to  look  after  a  girl.  When  you  take 
to  chaperoning  you'll  do  it  thoroughly,  as  you 
do  everything,  and  I  shall  get  abominably  left. 
I  do  call  it  hard  lines." 

He  kicked  an  ill-tempered  foot  that  rumpled 
the  strip  of  carpet  along  the  canoe.  John  Stani- 
forth  had  always  taken  his  own  way  ever  since 
he  could  remember  ;  he  had  always  had  money 
enough  for  the  best  of  polo  ponies  and  for  all 
kinds  of  sport.  He  felt  evident  dismay  at  the 
proposed  check  in  his  intimacy  with  the  first 
woman  he  had  had  time  to  adore.  Life  had 
always  been  so  easy  that  he  was  almost 
childishly  annoyed  at  the  first  rub.  Eve  was 
comforted  by  the  dismay  and  not  repelled  by 
the  childishness . 

"  It  will  be  far  worse  for  me,"  she  declared. 
"If  you  have  a  woman  to  stay  with  you  she  has 
the  sense  to  go  and  write  letters  or  lie  down, 
but  a  girl  is  just  there  all  the  time.  I've  never 
understood  the  joy  in  sticking  a  needle  into  one 
side  of  a  bit  of  stuff  and  pulling  it  out  another, 
so  I  never  do  fancy  work,  which  I  believe  is  a 
great  help  when  two  women  share  a  drawing- 
room  for  the  long  ages  between  meals.  You 
can  always  show  each  other  new  stitches,  and 
you  don't  look  so  appallingly  bored  with  the 
woman  opposite  when  your  hands  are  busy  and 
your  eyes  are  bent  on  your  work  instead  of 
roving  round  the  room  from  the  clock  to  the  door 
by  which  tea  ought  to  be  coming  in  and  isn't." 


26         THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN 

"  You  never  want  to  do  fancy  work  when  I  am 
there."  He  spoke  with  exultant  assurance  as 
he  shot  the  canoe  deftly  under  the  hanging  trees 
that  edged  the  far  end  of  the  lake.  Then  he 
crumpled  himself  up  in  the  bottom  of  the  boat 
facing  her.  She  had  not  replied  to  his  assertion. 

"  I  think  a  double  sculler  is  nicer  after  all," 
he  went  on  meditatively.  "  I  hate  not  being1 
able  to  sit  near  you  ;  being  opposite  is  nothing." 

Eve  smiled  to  think  of  her  silly  fears,  based 
on  Mrs.  Young's  idle  malice.  Staniforth  was  not 
the  man  to  be  caught  by  pretty  rusticity,  and  Celia 
might  even  be  plain.  Her  thoughts  came  back 
from  the  unknown  cousin  with  her  problematic 
powers  of  fascination  to  the  handsome  dark  head 
that  faced  her  across  the  little  space  of  the 
canoe. 

"I've  a  horrid  confession  to  make,"  she  said 
gaily.  "  Firsjt  I  was  afraid  that  the  cousin  might 
be  dowdy  and  wear  awful  boots,  and  then  some- 
thing Connie  Young  said  made  me  whirl  round, 
afraid  that  she  won't  be  dowdy,  and  that  every 
one  will  fall  in  love  with  her,  every  one  .  .  . 
even  you  !  " 

"I  1 "  Staniforth's  eyes  proclaimed  the 
stability  of  his  affections.  He  was  afraid  of 
the  crudity  o'f  words,  and  there  were  very  few 
of  their  conversations  which  might  not  have  been 
read  aloud  without  a  tremor,  but  eyes  had  grown 
swift  to  intercept  and  dispatch  meanings.  It 
is  doubtful  whether  Staniforth's  tongue  "had  ever 


THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN         27 

said  "  I  love  you."  His  tones  and  his  eyes 
assured  her  daily.  "  I  have  never  fallen  in 
love  in  my  life  except  once,"  he  went  on,  and 
searched  her  face  for  the  blush  which  did  not 
fail  him. 

"  And  you  didn't  marry  her?  "  she  said 
perversely. 

"  No,  I  haven't  married,  as  you  know,"  he 
replied.  "  Tell  me  all  about  the  girl.  We  will 
find  somebody  to  take  her  off  your  hands  ;  we 
can't  have  you  worried  with  infant  female 
cousins,  and  I  absolutely  refuse  to  make  a  third 
in  the  new  menage.  I  shall  play  polo  regularly 
again  ;  the  team  are  frightfully  sick  with  me  as 
it  is,  although  I've  been  lending  my  three  best 
ponies." 

This  was  another  view  of  the  case.  Celia 
might  not  attract  Staniforth,  she  might  drive 
him  away,  and  Eve  be  left  to  arrange  her  own  life 
again.  Quickly  she  decided  that  Mrs.  Young's 
advice  must  be  taken  and  a  marriage  arranged 
with  all  decorous  speed. 

"  If  she  is  clever  she  may  suit  Denis,  and  he 
may  look  after  her  and  take  her  out  a  bit,"  said 
Eve  hopefully.  Glamour  had  'faded  before  the 
trousseau  frocks  were  out,  but  she  still  admired 
her  husband  in  a  certain  detached  manner.  He 
hardly  seemed  to  belong  to  her,  but  she  put 
down  his  aloofness  to  the  fact  that  he  could  not 
be  bothered  with  women  who  were  not  "  clever." 
She  had  once  shrugged  at  the  thought  that  he 


28         THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN 

might  have  found  that  out  before  marriage.  He 
had  not  seemed  to  expect  this  mysterious  attri- 
bute during  their  short  engagement,  her  beauty 
and  her  golden  voice  had  seemed  to  suffice. 

Staniforth  never  liked  talking  about  Denis,  so 
he  hastily  changed  the  subject  now. 

"  You  must  promise  to  get  her  into  a  flapper 
set  that  will  keep  her  busy,"  he  said.  "  Let  her 
play  tennis  with  Dolly  Philpot  and  encourage  her 
if  she  feels  drawn  to  good  works.  She  may  like 
assistant  chaplains  if  she  is  used  to  a  country 
parson.  But  remember  that  I  can't  do  without 
you,  and  that  my  trap  only  holds  two.  I  shall 
certainly  put  off  buying  a  car  if  you  insist  on 
running  female  cousins."  His  ill-humour  was 
gone,  things  could  always  be  arranged.  He 
wanted  Eve's  society,  and  nothing  should  stand 
in  his  way  as  long  as  the  only  man  who  had  a 
right  over  it  drowsed  at  his  files  and  his  tribal 
customs . 

Thus  the  two  afloat  on  the  translucent  green 
lake  made  ready  to  play  Providence  for  the 
unwelcome  third.  Of  tiie  girl's  side  of  the 
question  they  never  thought  at  all.  She  existed, 
not  as  a  human  girl  demanding  her  own  right 
to  life  and  happiness,  but  as  a  possible  bar 
to  their  pleasure  and  comfort.  Kindness  to 
Celia  would  be  treasonable  to  Staniforth.  Eve 
was  bound  to  make  the  easier  choice,  even  as 
her  devout  lover  was  bound  to  exact  it. 

Over  the  darkening  bulk  of  Cheena  Mountain 


THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN         29 

glowed  the  first  splendid  star.  In  the  narrow 
oval  valley  lights  sprang  out  one  by  one,  and 
lamps  like  glow-worms  danced  by  hidden  paths 
up  and  down  the  hillsides.  Celia  was  forgotten 
as  the  magic  of  the  Himalayan  night  fell  with 
gentle  healing  on  souls  a  little  tarnished  by 
contact  with  a  garish  world.  Only  in  the  East 
can  the  night  be  truly  loved.  By  day  the  sun, 
no  friend  but  an  enemy,  wearies  the  earth  with 
an  importunate  glare,  but  at  evening  when  the 
hot  wind  dies  and  the  dew  falls  on  the  dusty 
land,  darkness  lays  a  comforting  touch  on 
wrinkling  eyes  and  smooths  the  lines  from  brain 
and  face  alike.  Night  in  the  East  is  the  image 
of  life,  not  death. 

"They  hardly  spoke  as  he  paddled  slowly  over 
the  dark  lake  towards  the  lighted  boathouse. 
Both,  for  the  moment,  were  unconscious  thralls 
to  the  magical  night. 


CHAPTER    III 

THE  front  door  banged  heavily.  Through  the 
streaming  panes  of  the  station  omnibus  Celia 
caught  her  last  view  of  the  Nottingham  lace 
curtains  that  draped  the  Rectory  windows  with 
mathematical  exactness.  Between  their  parted 
whiteness  the  Rectory  housekeeper  nodded  in 
tearful  farewell. 

There  were  no  tears  hi  Celia's  blue  eyes. 
Exultation,  mingled  with  a  glint  of  fear,  shone 
from  her  face.  As  the  omnibus  bumped  its 
way  along  the  cobbled  streets  she  pressed  her 
nose  close  against  the  blurred  pane  that  she 
might  the  better  catch  sight  of  old  landmarks. 
iWith  an  ecstasy  of  delight  she  was  bidding  fare- 
well to  her  childhood.  Only  when  the  church 
came  in  sight  her  expression  smoothed  out 
suddenly  into  decorous  melancholy.  In  the 
churchyard  just  underneath  the  wall  a  raw 
mound  showed  a  new-made  grave  that  held  her 
dead  guardian,  the  rector.  She  could  not  see 
it  from  the  omnibus,  but  her  mind  pierced  the 
bricks  and  saw  the  farewell  wreath  of  white 
chrysanthemums  she  had  twined  and  laid  there 
yesterday.  No  longer  pure  and  white,  she  could 


THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN         31 

imagine  them  flattened  into  the  slimy  earth, 
stained  and  spotted  and  flecked  by  the  pelting 
rain. 

With  a  groan  and  a  jerk,  the  omnibus  stopped 
at  the  curate's  lodgings.  The  opened  door 
showed  him  struggling  into  his  coat,  and 
cramming  an  old  felt  hat  on  his  bald  forehead. 
As  he  scrambled  into  the  omnibus  his  bulging 
pockets  betrayed  numerous  small  parcels. 

"It  is  kind  of  you  to  come  and  see  me  off," 
said  Celia  sedately,  the  memory  of  the  muddy 
grave  tempering  her  joy.  "  I  wouldn't  let 
Barrett  come,  she  would  have  broken  down  and 
made  a  scene  in  the  station,  and  there  was 
nobody  else,  you  know." 

"  Poor  little  lonely  child  !  "  ejaculated  the 
curate  huskily.  He  had  read  the  service,  with 
its  words  of  "  sure  and  certain  hope,"  over  that 
mound  in  the  churchyard,  and  he  did  not  realise 
that  the  rector  had  been  far  more  to  him  than 
to  the  girl  at  his  side,  to  whom  her  guardian's 
death  meant  peace  for  a  tired  old  man  but 
broken  bars  for  an  eager  child. 

Celia  looked  at  him  wonderingly.  "But  I'm 
never  going  to  be  lonely  any  more,"  she  said 
with  a  lilt  in  her  voice.  "  I've  never  had  any 
mother  or  brothers  or  sisters.  I've  had 
governesses  and  Barrett,  of  course,  and  they've 
been  kind;  but  governessy  kindness  is  a  chill- 
some  sort  of  thing,  after  all.  They  call  you 
'  dear  '  to  keep  from  calling  you  '  Jane  '  or 


32         THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN 

'  Evelyn  '  after  their  last  pupil,  and  they're  not 
a  bit  understanding.  Now  there's  going  to  be 
Eve  and  Eve's  baby.  You  saw  her  photograph 
and  how  lovely  she  is,  and  what  a  frock  she 
had  on."  Involuntarily  her  eyes  strayed  to  the 
ill -cut  coat  and  skirt  of  heavy  black  cloth  which 
was  the  local  dressmaker's  idea  of  a  suitable 
travelling  dress  for  a  young  lady  in  mourning. 

"  I  knew  in  a  moment  that  my  clothes  are 
all  wrong,"  she  continued  soberly,  "  and  I  hope 
she  won't  hate  me  when  she  sees  me." 

The  curate  embarked  on  a  platitudinous  mur- 
mur, but  she  cut  him  short  ruthlessly. 

"  Don't  begin  saying  that  favour  is  deceitful 
and  beauty  vain,"  she  implored,  "or  I  shall 
count  you  in  with  all  the  dead  dull  things  I'm 
so  happy  to  leave." 

"  You're  not  fair  to  us,  Celia,"  said  the  curate 
miserably.  "It  is  your  own  fault  if  your  life 
has  been  dull.  You've  had  your  books,  and 
your  music,  and— all  the  church  flowers  to  see 
after  and  visits  to  make."  His  recital  of  the 
joys  of  life  lacked  conviction,  aiid  Celia,  turn- 
ing sharply  round  from  the  window,  proceeded 
to  rend  him  asunder. 

"  Books  !  "  she  ejaculated  scornfully.  "  What 
books?  Snuffy  old  Christian  Fathers  that  are 
enough  to  make  any  one  turn  heathen,  and 
Josephus,  and  bound  volumes  of  sermons,  rows 
and  rows  of  them.  I  used  to  steal  the  house- 
maid's novelettes  when  I  could,  but  that  wasn't 


THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN          33 

often.  Why,  I've  never  read  anything  except 
the  reviews  of  books  in  the  Church  Times,  and 
you  can't  make  much  up  out  of  them." 

The  omnibus  clattered  over  the  cobblestones 
in  the  station  yard.  Oblivious  of  the  rain  and 
her  new  frock,  Celia  stood  watching  the  trans- 
ference of  her  trunks  from  the  tarpaulined  roof 
to  the  porter's  truck.  They  were  glaringly  new 
trunks,  and  her  initials  stood  out,  "  C.  E.  F.,"  in 
scarlet  paint  on  the  shiny  black  leather.  The 
curate  took  her  purse  and  fussed  into  the  ticket 
office,  which  served  also  as  waiting-room  and 
smelt  of  past  ages.  Celia  wandered  out  to  the 
platform  and  watched  the  rain  slant  its  pitiless 
spears  athwart  the  glistening  rails  that  stretched 
through  the  monotonous  fenland. 

A  few  of  the  country  folk  bobbed  or  pulled  a 
forelock  in  the  old-fashioned  manner  that  still 
obtained  in  this  forgotten  Lincolnshire  back- 
water. They  had  known  Miss  Celia  from  her 
babyhood,  and  had  taken  an  interest  in  her  first 
appearance  at  church,  her  measles,  her  Con- 
firmation—dull milestones  in  a  life  as  flat  as 
-one  of  their  own  fen  roads.  Now  she  was  going 
to  leave  them,  going  to  a  heathen  country 
entirely  peopled  by  black  men  and  snakes.  Even 
to  Fendyke  missionary  fervour  had  penetrated 
on  occasion,  and  the  inhabitants  had  contributed 
pennies  to  aid  a  Zanana,  magical  word  of  which 
few  knew  the  meaning. 

The  curate  joined  her  and  paced  at  her  side. 
3 


34         THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN 

The  roof  leaked  so  that  the  water  lay  in  greasy 
pools  on  the  uneven  flags  of  the  platform.  There 
was  no  sign  of  the  train.  Clocks  in  the  village 
were  always  kept  fast,  and  railway  time  was 
an  unknown  measure. 

The  drear  outlook  struck  at  the  curate's  heart. 
The  one  ray  of  sunlight  in  his  life  would  fade 
out  when  the  train  carried  Celia  away  from 
Fendyke  for  ever.  Yet  he  had  a  duty  to  perform. 
The  child  was  going  out  into  the  world  alone, 
and  she  had  no  mother  to  hand  her  a  stirrup-cup 
of  wisdom.  India  loomed  ominously  before  his 
eyes  as  a  modern  Babylon  full  of  strange 
temptations  against  which  Celia  had  only  her 
innocent  ignorance  to  serve  as  shield.  True  there 
was  Eve;  but  his  heart  misgave  him  for  Mrs. 
Lang  as  a  guide  for  youth.  He  had  seen  her 
photograph,  and  knew  from  lifelong  experience 
that  while  a  dowdy  woman  is  always  virtuous 
and  a  crown  to  her  husband,  hair  waved  in  the 
unprincipled  manner  of  Mrs.  Lang  carried  with 
it  a  conviction  of  sin. 

Celia's  hair,  fine  and  silky,  touched  with  sun 
even  on  this  grey  day,  was  brushed  neatly  back 
and  coiled  in  exactly  the  wrong  spot,  neither 
high  nor  low,  round  the  crown  of  her  head.  Her 
ugly  felt  hat,  hard  and  round,  was  trimmed  with 
expensive  velvet,  already  spotted  with  the  rain. 
The  skirt  of  her  black  cloth  dress  showed  her 
clumsy  boots  in  front,  but  at  the  back  seam  it 
dropped  heavily  and  touched  the  pools  as  the 
two  paced  up  and  down. 


THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN         35 

The  signal  clicked  suddenly  at  this  point  in 
his  meditations,  and  he  knew  that  what  he  had 
to  say  must  be  said  quickly. 

"  Celia,  dear,"  he  began—"  Celia,  out  in 
India  it  won't  be  like  your  sheltered  home 
at  the  rectory.  You  may — you  will  meet 
temptations." 

Celia  took  the  words  out  of  his  mouth. 

"  Temptations  !  "  she  cried,  clasping  her  hands 
in  an  ecstasy  of  longing.  "  How  I  do  hope  I 
shall  1  "  Her  blue  eyes  gazed  raptly  up  into  his 
astonished  face.  "  I  am  so  deadly  tired  of  being 
good,"  she  continued  apologetically.  "  I  want 
to  live  now,  and  see  things  and  do  things,  and 
be  able  to  be  wicked  if  I  want  to." 

It  was  too  late  for  remonstrance.  Appeals  to 
remembrance  of  her  Confirmation  vows,  her 
Sunday-school  class,  the  saintly  example  of  the 
dead  rector,  all  flashed  into  his  mind,  but  the 
train  was  sliding  along  the  platform,  and  his 
opportunity  was  gone.  Without  a  word  he 
opened  a  carriage  door  and  put  her  in,  forgetting, 
to  her  delight,  to  choose  an  elderly  feminine 
travelling  companion  as  he  had  intended. 

He  emptied  his  pockets  of  their  bulges,  and 
put  the  parcels  on  the  seat  by  her  side  without 
saying  a  word.  Then  he  clattered  away  to  the 
luggage -van  to  see  her  boxes  stowed;  when  he 
came  back,  the  guard  was  already  unfurling  his 
green  flag,  and  the  parting  was  come. 

Celia  leaned  at  the  window  and  gave  him  both 


36         THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN 

her  hands.  She  was  sorry  to  leave  him  after  all, 
and  in  spite  of  herself  a  tear  trickled. 

"  Goodbye,  dear  Mr.  Poynter,"  she  said,  "  and 
thank  you  for  being  so  kind  to  me  and  coming 
to  see  me  off— and  everything." 

"  God  bless  you,  little  Celia  1  "  He  stood  back 
from  the  carriage,  and  the  train  began  to  move 
with  a  grinding  and  squealing  of  wheels  on  the 
wet  metals. 

The  Curate  stood  there,  his  shapeless  felt  hat 
crushed  in  his  bony  hands,  the  rain  falling  un- 
heeded on  his  bald  head.  \VJien  only  the  tail 
van  was  visible  far  away  along  the  straight  track 
he  passed  out  again  into  the  station  yard. 

The  omnibus  was  waiting  for  the  down  train, 
so  he  strode  away  along  the  flat,  straight  road 
to  the  village.  On  either  side  the  dykes,  poplar- 
fringed,  were  sullen  with  brown  rain-water,  the 
mud  was  plastered  with  fallen  leaves.  But  as 
he  walked,  head  bent  forward,  hands  thrust  into 
sagging  pockets,  he  was  recking  nothing  of  the 
dreary  autumn  day.  He  was  thinking  of  Celia, 
little  Celia  whom  he  had  known  as  a  tiny  baby, 
as  a  child,  as  a  girl,  Celia  who  wanted  to  be 
wicked  and  knew  not  what  she  said. 

For  the  first  time  the  curate  wondered  if  her 
guardian's  plan  of  education  had  been  right 
after  all.  Would  it  fit  her  for  India  and  Mrs. 
Lang?  Then  a  shamed  feeling  of  blasphemy 
overcame  him.  He  turned  in  at  the  lych-gate 
and  ploughed  through  the  sodden  grass  to  the 


THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN         37 

grave  of  his  dead  friend.  Celia's  draggled 
wreath  lay  there.  He  bent  down  and  pulled 
away  one  of  the  defaced  blossoms. 

"  It  isn't  robbing  the  dead,"  he  said  to  himself 
in  answer  to  some  wordless  criticism  as  he 
tucked  the  muddy  petals  inside  a  pocket-book. 
"It  is  to  remind  me  of  both  of  them — Celia  and 
the  rector." 

Then,  bereft  of  both,  he  let  himself  into  his 
lodgings  and  sat  in  his  gloomy  sitting-room  to 
write  his  Sunday's  sermon. 

Meanwhile  as  the  train  sped  towards  London, 
Celia  examined  her  parcels.  For  literature  there 
was  the  Church  Times,  the  parish  magazine,  and 
the  organ  of  the  Gleaners'  Union.  For  nutriment 
there  was  a  damp  bag  of  gingernuts,  some 
oranges,  and  a  pale  slab  of  chocolate.  She 
examined  them  all  with  a  smile  half  mocking, 
half  tender.  Barrett  had  given  her  a  packet  of 
sandwiches,  and  letting  the  sash  down,  she 
scattered  a  shower  of  gingernuts  to  mingle  with 
the  rain  outside.  She  nibbled  the  chocolate  and 
opened  the  Church  Times.  Hitherto  it  had  been 
quite  the  most  interesting  of  the  reading  matter 
allowed  to  her;  at  any  rate,  it  was  modern,  and 
even  the  advertisements  contained  thrills  of 
interest.  But  to-day  she  was  too  restless,  too 
excited  to  plunge  into  its  long  columns,  and  she 
cast  it  aside  for  the  Church  Magazine.  The 
body  of  this  delectable  literature  was  supplied 
from  London;  the  cover,  bearing  a  picture  of 


38         THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN 

Fendyke  Church,  and  the  outside  pages  were 
produced  locally,  and  dealt  with  the  times  of 
services,  the  amount  of  collections  for  the  month, 
and  a  list  of  churchwardens  and  sidesmen.  The 
rector's  obituary,  framed  in  black  lines,  leaped 
out  at  her,  but  she  did  not  want  to  read  it  again, 
and  she  passed  hastily  to  the  unctuous  sacred 
poems  of  minor  canons,  the  articles  on  bee- 
keeping and  the  habits  of  ants  described  by  the 
pens  of  bishops— the  strange  mixture  of  heavenly 
and  earthly  pursuits  that  is  fortunately  found 
nowhere  but  hi  a  church  magazine. 

An  article  on  caterpillars  and  a  poem  of 
resignation  proved  too  much  for  Celia,  and  the 
Church  Magazine  followed  the  gingernuts  out 
of  the  window.  There  remained  the  organ  of 
the  Gleaners'  Union,  but  she  did  not  even  look 
at  it.  It  lay  dusty  and  trampled  by  her  rapid 
movements  from  window  to  window. 

At  Peterborough  Celia  darted  to  the  bookstall, 
and  with  a  fearful  joy  perpetrated  her  first  act 
of  wickedness.  Snatching  up  a  volume  alluringly 
bound  in  red  and  gold,  she  asked  its  price.  Four 
and  sixpence  seemed  cheap  for  the  deliberate 
breaking  of  one^s  first  bond.  Celia  hastened 
back  to  her  compartment,  and  was  soon  deep  in 
the  delights  of  the  first  novel  she  had  ever 
read. 


CHAPTER    IV 

IT  was,  perhaps,  unfortunate  for  Celia  Ferriby 
that  she  was  born  in  an  hour  when  Environment 
was  spelt  with  a  capital  E,  and  Heredity  with  a 
capital  H .  She  came  into  the  world  at  a  time 
when  the  most  broad-minded  people  became 
social  Calvinists  and  predicted  damnation  for  the 
luckless  children  of  sinful  parents.  Now,  poor 
Celia's  parents  were  very  sinful.  Jack  Ferriby 
drank  and  gambled  and  never  went  to  church, 
and  when,  after  various  scandalous  affairs,  he 
married,  his  choice  fell  on  a  chorus  girl  who 
danced  and  sang  at  the  Gaiety  theatre. 

She  was  not  a  nice  girl,  and  Jack  was  by 
no  means  the  first  of  her  admirers.  In  fact,  she 
had  not  one  redeeming  quality  except  her  love 
for  Jack.  Wjhen  he  appeared  on  the  scene  she 
forgot  what  manner  of  woman  she  had  been,  and 
made  him  forget  it  also.  Whether  her  refor- 
mation would  have  outlasted  the  first  bloom  of 
love  is  uncertain.  It  was  not  tested  ;  Cissy 
Ferriby  died  at  the  birth  of  her  daughter,  and 
Jack  Ferriby  put  a  bullet  through  his  brains. 

Neither  thought  of  the  stranded  baby.  They 
left  it  to  the  mercy  of  chance.  Cissy  had  cut 


40         THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN 

her  family  when  she  married,  and  Jack  had  few 
relations  in  England.  Of  these  the  rector  of 
Fendyke  was  one,  and  he  journeyed  up  from 
his  Lincolnshire  village  accompanied  by  his 
housekeeper.  He  had  never  married,  and  he 
knew  nothing  of  babies  except  their  evil  manners 
and  customs  when  presented  to  him  at  the  font. 
But  he  saw  only  the  workhouse,  or,  at  best,  a 
godless  home  before  Jack's  baby,  so  he  rescued 
it  with  a  side  glance  of  dismay  at  the  thought  of 
the  wrecking  of  his  peace. 

Yet  after  all  it  was  Barrett's  peace  which  was 
wrecked,  for  she  took  the  baby  and  mothered  it, 
and  was  inclined  to  rebel  at  the  rector's  strict 
rule  of  life  arranged  for  Celia  when  she  was  still 
in  the  cradle. 

Religiously,  the  rector  was  not  a  Calvinist. 
That  would  have  been  impossible  in  view  of 
the  magnificent  Norman  church  which  domi- 
nated the  fenland.  But  he  was  saturated  with  the 
doctrine  of  heredity  and  the  fear  of  environ- 
ment. Celia  came  of  a  bad  stock  ;  her  mother 
had  been  unspeakable  and  her  father  a  vicious 
fool.  There  was  but  small  chance  that  she  could 
escape  damnation,  but  the  rector  set  himself  to 
hedge  her  soul  from  the  wiles  of  a  ready  devil. 

It  was  an  easy  task  in  the  fen  village,  for 
there  were  no  young  people  to  instil  the  poison 
of  frivolity  into  Celia's  open  mind.  The 
Stukeleys  at  the  Hall  had  no  children,  and  the 
curate  was  unmarried.  The  youngest  person 


THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN         41 

with  whom  she  came  into  daily  contact  was 
Phoebe  the  housemaid,  who  read  penny  novelettes 
and  flirted  with  the  gardener. 

When  Celia  was  five  Barrett  taught  her  to 
read,  and  then  came  a  succession  of  governesses 
on  whom  the  rector's  system  of  education  was 
rigorously  impressed.  He  had  hesitated  long 
over  the  wisdom  or  unwisdom  of  teaching  the 
child  Classics.  Of  course  he  knew  that  an 
education  without  Greek  was  no  education  at 
all  ;  and  yet,  how  could  he  teach  her  Latin  when 
Catullus  and  his  Lesbia  lurked  to  put  thoughts 
of  kisses  into  her  head,  or  Greek  when  Homer 
talked  shamelessly  of  white-armed  goddesses? 
Classics,  then,  were  banished  from  Celia's  curri- 
culum, but  she  learnt  French  (with  a  Lincoln- 
shire accent),  and  German  (with  no  accent  at 
all),  from  various  exponents  of  the  system. 

The  rector  banished  novels.  When  Celia  was 
still  busy  with  "  the  fat  cat  on  the  mat  "  of  her 
first  reading  book  he  weeded  his  bookshelves  of 
the  few  stories  they  contained,  and  when,  later, 
the  child  wearied  of  her  lesson  books,  the  library 
offered  its  rows  of  musty  volumes  on  theology. 
It  was  a  great  concession  that  she  was  allowed 
to  learn  music  :  perhaps  the  rector  had  a  thought 
for  the  Sunday-school  harmonium  and  the 
Church  organ  when  the  organist  took  his  holiday. 

The  rector  watched  daily  for  signs  of 
depravity,  and  was  almost  disappointed  to  find 
none.  Celia  told  the  truth,  came  punctually  to 


42         THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN 

breakfast,  and  arranged  the  church  flowers  in 
the  stiff  decorum  required  by  ecclesiastical  vases. 
Certainly  she  gave  no  sign  of  interest  in  the 
Early  Fathers,  and  was  lamentably  ignorant  of 
Norman  architecture,  but  she  expounded  the 
story  of  Daniel  in  the  lions'  den  on  Sundays 
to  the  lint -locked  fen  children,  and  on  week- 
days cut  out  numberless  flannel  petticoats  for 
their  rheumatic  mothers. 

The  rector  had  planned  out  the  child's  whole 
life.  When  she  was  twenty-one  he  would  tell 
her  something  of  her  parents  and  the  pit  from 
which  she  had  been  digged.  He  would  warn 
her  of  snares  ;  being  feminine,  she  would  not 
understand  all  that  he  meant,  but  she  must  be 
warned  ;  and  then,  when  he  died,  the  curate 
would  marry  her  and  continue  the  sheltering 
system . 

When  Celia  was  seventeen  her  guardian 
viewed  her  with  pride.  He  offered  this  soul, 
snatched  from  destruction  and  endowed  with 
salvation  by  his  own  labour,  for  the  approbation 
of  the  Almighty.*  "  Such  unpromising  material," 
he  would  meditate  ;  "  and  such  a  result,  all 
through  a  little  care,  a  little  thought." 

And  then  an  unforeseen  thing  occurred.  His 
health  began  to  fail.  A  London  specialist  con- 
firmed the  local  verdict  :  his  life's  tenure  was  to 
be  measured  by  months.  Celia's  future  must 
be  settled  at  once.  The  rector  sent  for  his 
curate,  and  Mr.  Poynter  rose  to  the  highest  of 


THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN         43 

self-abnegation,  for  he  refused  to  marry  Celia, 
offered  to  him  as  a  sacred  charge  to  complete 
his  friend's  system. 

"  I  love  her,"  he  said  in  a  queer  choked  voice. 
"  And  she  would  marry  me  if  you  told  her  to 
do  so,  she  is  so  accustomed  to  obedience.  But 
it  is  not  fair  to  the  child.  She  is  young  and 
pretty  and  gay,  and  I  am  old  and  sober."  He 
passed  his  hands  slowly  over  his  bald  head  and 
cast  an  involuntary  glance  into  the  ancient 
gilt -framed  mirror  that  hung  over  the  study 
mantelpiece. 

The  curate  was  quite  wrong.  Even  Celia's 
habit  of  obedience  would  have  broken  down  if 
she  had  been  told  to  marry  him.  But  the  con- 
viction of  his  self-sacrifice  lay  warm  at  Tris  heart 
all  his  life,  and  cheered  many  a  grey  day  when 
thoughts  of  failure  shadowed  him.  And  so  it 
was  not  wasted. 

Since  Celia's  marriage  to  an  unwilling  swain 
seemed  impossible,  there  was  only  one  hope  left. 
Jack  Ferriby's  cousin  was  an  Indian  civilian, 
married,  with  one  child  ;  he  would  perhaps  take 
charge  of  Celia  for  a  year  or  two.  The  rector 
read  no  modern  novels,  so  he  knew  nothing  of 
the  reproach  of  Anglo-India.  Rather  he  pictured 
Eve  Lang  as  passing  from  zanana  to  zanana  or 
sitting  in  the  shade  of  a  palm-tree  surrounded  by 
an  absorbed  group  of  neatly  petticoated  ladies 
with  coal-black  complexions.  His  India  was  the 
India  of  Little  Henry  and  Mrs.  Sherwood, 


44         THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN 

flavoured  by  a  dim  recollection  of  Bishop 
Heber. 

When  his  death  sentence  was  pronounced,  the 
rector  wrote  to  Denis  Lang.  He  did  not  linger 
over  the  circumstance  of  Celia's  birth,  but  he 
gave  a  clear  account  of  the  system  as  though  to 
prove  to  her  suggested  guardian  that  danger 
in  adopting  her  no  longer  existed  in  view  of 
so  excellent  a  training. 

Denis  Lang  read  the  letter  with  a  pang  of 
regret  for  Jack  Ferriby,  and  a  sudden  recollec- 
tion of  his  cousin's  popularity  in  the  football 
field  at  school.  The  files  on  the  crowded  writing- 
table  melted  away,  and  in  place  of  the  white- 
washed office  walls  and  a  swaying  punkah  the 
school  playing-fields  stretched  grey  beneath  a 
December  sky.  Jack  Ferriby  walked  by  his  side 
explaining  with  joyous  eagerness  that  he  had 
been  chosen  to  play  in  the  team.  He  had 
been  gay,  light-hearted,  irresponsible  always  ; 
and  Denis,  quieter,  older,  and  a  student,  had  yet 
admired  his  cousin's  strength  and  grace  of  body, 
had  been  proud  of  his  successes  in  the  playing- 
fields. 

He  smiled  at  the  system,  and  felt  a  little 
curious  to  see  the  result  of  its  ponderous  tedium. 
But  he  could  not  adopt  youthful  daughters  of 
scapegrace  cousins  without  first  consulting  Eve, 
and  after  sundry  misgivings  he  sent  the  rector's 
letter  to  her  with  a  brief  explanation  of  the 
case. 


CHAPTER    V 

CELIA'S  voyage  passed — passed  like  a  procession 
of  pictures  that  grew  brighter  in  colour  one  by 
one  until  the  chill  discomfort  of  the  grim  London 
dock  seemed  like  a  dream  to  be  forgotten  at 
the  gorgeous  dawn  of  Bombay  painted  on  a 
sparkling  foreground  of  sea,  a  luminous  back- 
ground of  gold  and  turquoise  sky.  The  mail 
that  carried  her  up-country  gave  Tier  kaleido- 
scopic visions  that  shattered  one  into  the  other 
amid  the  deafening  rattle  of  an  Indian  train. 
She  hung,  breathless  with  delight,  at  the  window 
without  heed  of  the  grime  that  overspread  face 
and  hair  and  clothes.  The  black  cloth  coat  and 
skirt  still  served  as  a  travelling  dress  ;  but  the 
day  was  hot,  so  the  coat  swung  from  a  peg  and 
the  hideous  black  and  white  check  flannel  blouse 
had  nothing  to  hide  its  evil  cut.  On  the  black 
skirt  dust  lay  thick  and  brown. 

But  Celia  recked  nothing  of  dress  as  she  hung 
at  the  window  and  gazed  at  the  endless  plain. 
She  marked  the  unfamiliar  combination  of 
initials  painted  on  the  trucks,  the  fortified 
appearance  of  the  heavily  shuttered  carriages 
on  the  trains  as  they  passed.  Once  she  turned 

45 


46         THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN 

abruptly  to  her  fellow-passenger,  who  reclined 
on  her  green-leather  couch  propped  by  cushions. 

"  What  does  G.  I.  P.  and  O.  R.  R.  mean?  " 
she  asked  eagerly. 

"  Oh,  Indian  railways,"  returned  her  com- 
panion, lifting  vague  eyes  from  the  paper - 
covered  novel  she  was  reading.  Celia  faced 
round  and  sat  down  to  look  at  her.  She  was 
almost  as  wonderful  as  a  landscape  which  held 
monkeys  performing  gymnastics  on  wire  fencing, 
and  strings  of  camels,  and  elephants  swaying 
their  huge  bulk  under  trees.  Although  they 
had  left  Bombay  the  evening  before  and  had 
slept  in  the  train,  Mrs.  Cunningham  had  not 
a  hair,  not  a  fold  out  of  place.  Her  holland 
frock,  trimly  belted  with  scarlet  leather,  re- 
mained uncreased.  Under  her  panama  hat  her 
hair  was  netted  firmly  down  in  its  appointed 
curves.  Neither  hot,  nor  worried,  nor  dishev- 
elled, she  leaned  back  on  her  cushion  with 
an  occasional  glance  of  horror  at  begrimed 
Celia.  She  had  found  the  girl  a  distinct 
nuisance  during  her  morning  toilet.  The  bath- 
room was  too  small  for  the  comfortable  com- 
pletion of  her  style  of  hairdressing,  and  propping 
up  a  mirror,  she  had  essayed  the  marvellous 
erection  sitting  on  the  edge  of  her  berth. 

Celia  gaped  with  wide-eyed  interest  at  the 
process.  She  watched  Mrs.  Cunningham  insert 
rolls  and  pads,  pin  on  unexpected  curls  that 
had  spent  the  night  in  a  dressing-bag,  and  cover 


THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN          47 

the  whole  confection  with  a  spreading  net.  She 
had  never  assisted  at  a  woman's  toilet  before. 

"  I  wonder  if  I  shall  ever  learn  to  do  my  hair 
like  that,"  she  had  said. 

Mrs.  Cunningham  had  looked  at  the  shining 
masses  that  framed  Celia's  youthful  freshness 
of  complexion  and  sighed  for  her  own  girlish 
charms  offered  up  long  ago  as  a  sacrifice  to  the 
Indian  climate.  But  she  did  not  hasten  to  re- 
assure Celia,  most  Anglo-Indian  women  dislike 
girls  with  complexions,  so  she  only  returned  her 
interest  by  a  cold  gaze  of  critical  scrutiny  while 
the  hair  was  roped  together  and  lumped  up  on 
that  exactly  wrong  spot  chosen  for  it. 

Their  intimacy  had  proceeded  no  farther. 
Her  toilet  once  complete  and  her  bedding  rolled 
into  the  unsightly,  bulging  sausage  from  which  no 
Anglo-Indian  is  ever  parted,  Mrs.  Cunningham 
had  subsided  among  her  cushions  with  a  pile  of 
novels.  She  had  selected  an  innocuous  romance 
for  her  fellow-traveller,  but  Celia  had  been  much 
too  busy  to  read,  and  the  book  lay  on  the  floor. 

But  now  she  felt  she  wanted  companionship. 
Her  question  about  railway  initials  had  not 
gained  her  much  satisfaction,  so  she  returned  to 
the  charge  again. 

"  Couldn't  you  talk  to  me  a  bit?  "  she  said. 
"  I  do  so  want  to  hear  about  India  and  Eve  and 
everything.  It's  so  difficult  to  start  living  all 
different,  and  I  wouldn't  like  Eve  to  be  ashamed 
of  me  the  very  first  minute." 


48         THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN 

Mrs.  Cunningham's  eyes  softened  a  little. 
She  had  really  been  quite  a  kind-hearted  woman 
before  hot  weathers  had  caused  her  to  disapprove 
of  most  womenkind  and  all  menkind  except 
adoring  subalterns  or  attentive  majors.  Her 
particular  craze  was  order.  She  was  acutely 
miserable  if  a  stray  hair  escaped  its  netted 
thraldom,  played  only  the  mildest  of  tennis 
because  she  disliked  getting  hot  and  untidy, 
and  suffered  the  acutest  discomfort  in  the  hot 
weather  because  she  would  not  relax  half  an 
inch  of  the  rigour  of  her  trim  belts.  Her  health 
suffered,  of  course,  and  so  did  her  husband's 
happiness,  but  she  remained  neat  in  all  circum- 
stances, and  wrote  interminable  letters  about  her 
daughter's  corsets  to  a  disquieted  headmistress 
who  hailed  from  Girton  and  disapproved  of  waists . 

To  a  woman  of  this  type  Celia's  dishevelled 
appearance  was  nothing  less  than  criminal,  and 
there  was  no  softness  in  her  voice  as  she  replied 
to  the  girl's  anxious  questioning. 

"  First  of  all,"  she  returned,  "  let  me  entreat 
you  to  wash  your  hands  and  face,  scrub  them. 
Then  brush  your  skirt  if  you  don't  want  Mrs. 
Lang  to  disown  you  on  the  platform." 

"  But  my  clothes-brush  is  packed  up,"  said 
Celia  doubtfully. 

"  You  can  take  mine."  An  impatient  jerk 
guided  Celia  to  a"  smart  dressing-bag.  She 
opened  the  catch  carefully  and  gazed  at  the 
lavish  display  of  silver  mountings. 


THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN         49 

"  What  a  lot  of  bottles  and  brushes  and 
things  1  "  she  said  in  an  awestruck  voice.  "  Do 
you  use  them  all?  In  Fendyke  I  had  one  comb 
and  a  wooden-backed  brush  and  a  threepenny 
bottle  of  vaseline — for  chapped  hands,  you 
know." 

Mrs.  Cunningham  laughed  in  spite  of  herself. 
She  was  conscious  of  a  little  feminine  pleasure 
in  the  thought  that  Eve  Lang  was  to  be  saddled 
with  this  raw  child,  but  she  could  not  help  feel- 
ing sorry  for  Celia,  whose  education  lay  before 
her,  a  thorny  track  of  worries  and  astonishments. 

"  Never  mind  my  powder  puffs,"  she  said, 
more  kindly  than  she  had  yet  spoken.  "  Get 
out  that  clothes-brush  and  clean  up  your  skirt." 
Celia  extracted  the  brush  and  gazed  in  admira- 
tion at  the  cherubs'  heads  that  adorned  it.  Then 
she  applied  it  so  vigorously  that  dust  rose  in 
clouds,  and  Mrs.  Cunningham  regretted  her 
spasm  of  good-nature.  When  she  had  restored 
a  semblance  of  cleanliness  she  attacked  her 
companion  again. 

"  I  know  you  want  to  read,"  she  said,  "  and  I 
am  sure  you  must  dislike  travelling  with  girls, 
but,  after  all,  it  is  rather  important  that  I  should 
begin  right  and  that  Eve  should  like  me.  Won't 
you  please  explain  life  a  little  for  me." 

Mrs.    Cunningham   closed   her   book   with  an 

impatient  air.     At  Celia's  age  she  had  needed 

no    explaining    of     life,    she    had    understood 

everything,    known    everything     with    the    sad 

4 


50         THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN 

omniscience  of  many  an  Anglo-Indian  girl  who 
possesses  no  bloom  of  ignorance.  The  astonish- 
ing innocence  of  this  child  was  a  new  experience, 
and  she  hated  new  experiences  of  a  feminine 
gender.  But  she  could  not  withstand  Celia's 
appeal,  and  the  mem-sahib's  passion  for  giving 
advice  was,  of  course,  strong  within  her. 

"  Well,  you'd  better  forget  first  of  all  that  you 
possess  a  will  of  your  own  or  a  desire  of  your 
own.  Let  Mrs.  Lang  do  your  hair  and  dress 
you  just  as  she  likes,  and  never  put  yourself 
forward  or  get  in  her  way." 

"  But  that  will  be  just  like  Fendyke,"  inter- 
jected Celia. 

"  Then,  of  course,  you'll  have  dances  and 
dinners  and  badminton  parties  and  subalterns 
to  tea  in  the  Club.  Subalterns  are  safe  enough  ; 
I  don't  think  Eve  has  the  usual  Anglo-Indian 
Schwdrmerei  for  them." 

This  piece  of  scholarship  did  not  impress 
Celia,  who  had  read  everything  in  German  that 
did  not  mention  kisses. 

"  And  a  lover,"  she  put  in  ardently — "  don't 
you  think  I  shall  have  a  lover?  "  Mrs. 
Cunningham  looked  startled.  In  her  set  the  word 
had  passed  from  its  ancient  high  estate  and  no 
longer  sounded  well  on  a  girl's  lips. 

"I've  no  doubt  you  will  get  engaged  if  you 
manage  properly  and  follow  Mrs.  Lang's  advice 
in  every  way,"  she  said  a  little  stiffly. 

"Oh,     engaged,"     repeated     Celia     blankly. 


THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN          51 

"  That  would  be  dull  ;  I  could  have  got  engaged 
to  the  curate  at  home."  She  smiled  a  little  at 
the  thought  of  her  last  sight  of  him — his  cold 
blue  knuckles  tightening  over  his  shapeless  hat 
as  he  waved  goodbye  to  the  train  that  bore 
her  from  Fendyke.  He  and  her  guardian  had 
been  the  only  men  she  had  known,  but  she  had 
gathered  something  from  stolen  novelettes  in  the 
time  of  her  imprisonment  and  the  books  she 
had  devoured  on  board  ship.  "  I  don't  want 
just  to  be  engaged,"  she  went  on.  "I  want 
some  one  to  love  me  passionately  like  they  do 
in  books  and  crush  my  shrinking  form  to  his 
hungry  heart." 

Mrs.  Cunningham  stiffened  all  over  ;  she  did 
not  recognise  the  style  of  the  "  Kitchen 
Myosotis,"  and  did  not  expect  this  indelicate 
style  of  conversation  from  a  girl  newly  come 
from  a  country  vicarage. 

"  Girls  don't  usually  talk  like  that,"  she  said 
with  forced  mildness. 

"  Don't  they?  "  Celia  remained  unimpressed. 
"  Other  girls  are  different  ;  they  meet  people 
and  read  and  talk.  I've  been  shut  up  all  my 
life  and  I've  never  had  a  chance.  Don't  you 
understand  how  excited  I  am  at  the  thought  of 
being  free  at  last  before  I  get  too  old  and  ugly 
to  care?  I  want  to  see  everything  and  feel 
everything,  feel  especially.  Why,  I've  never  felt 
in  my  life,  except  bored  or  tired.  I've  never 
felt  love  or  hate  or  passion  or  any  Interesting 


52         THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN 

feelings  like  that,  and  I  simply  must  learn  what 
it's  all  like.  Oh,  do  say  you  understand." 

She  had  left  her  seat  and  flung  herself  im- 
petuously on  Mrs.  Cunningham,  actually  shaking 
her  in  her  excitement.  Mrs.  Cunningham  looked 
a  little  frightened. 

"  My  dear,  you  really  must  not  talk  like  that," 
she  said.  "  You  will  learn  things  quite  soon 
enough  ;  but  you  must  marry  first  and  let  your 
husband  teach  you." 

"  I  certainly  shan't  marry  for  ages,"  said 
Celia  decidedly.  "  I  want  to  have  lots  of  lovers 
first  and  men  simply  dying  for  me,  then  when 
I'm  sick  of  it  I'll  just  marry  and  be  solemn  ever 
after." 

"  You  are  an  extremely  foolish  child,"  said 
Mrs.  Cunningham,  now  really  severe.  "  Let  me 
warn  you  that  if  you  said  to  Mrs,  Lang  a  quarter 
of  the  stuff  you've  talked  to  me  to-day  she 
would  simply  refuse  to  have  you  in  her  house. 
You  would  be  packed  off  home  at  once." 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say  I've  got  to  bottle  it  all 
up  inside  me  and  never  tell  Eve  how  I  want  to 
fall  passionately  in  love  and  all  that?  I'll  simply 
have  to  go  on  thinking  about  it  ;  but  if  you 
really  say  I  oughtn't  to  mention  it — well,  I'm 
sure  you  know  best.  I  rather  thought  she 
might  help,  but  if  you  honestly  think  she'd  be 
angry " 

"  I'm  certain  of  it,"  said  Mrs.  Cunningham, 
fully  convinced  of  a  good  deed  in  checking  the 


THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN         53 

child's  terrifying  aspirations  after  unrighteous- 
ness. "You  will  soon  learn  that  girls  don't 
talk  about  passionate  kisses  and  lovers  in  the 
way  you  have  been  doing." 

"  I  may  learn  not  to  talk,  but  I  certainly 
shan't  learn  not  to  think  about  them.  How- 
ever, it  is  very  kind  of  you  to  tell  me,  and 
I'll  remember  that  Eve  wouldn't  like  it.  I  think 
I  understand  what  you  want  me  to  be — sort  of 
'  speak  when  I'm  spoken  to,  come  when  I'm 
called  '  girl.  That's  what  Barrett  used  to  tell 
me,  but  I  did  hope  India  would  be  different." 

"So  it  will  when  you  are  a  little  older.  And, 
of  course,  Mrs.  Lang  will  be  tremendously  kind 
to  you,  so  you  must  be  a  good  girl."  Mrs. 
Cunningham  dismissed  the  subject  and  began  to 
attend  to  her  complexion.  She  warned  Celia 
that  the  train  was  due  in  ten  minutes,  setting 
the  child's  heart  beating  with  a  mad  excitement. 

Presently  they  clattered  through  the  ironwork 
of  a  high  hung  bridge  spanning  a  wide  river  that 
washed  a  great  red  fort.  The  journey  was  over 
and  the  train  slid  along  a  platform  a  century's 
distance  from  Fendyke. 

Celia's  eager  eyes  scanned  the  brown,  raucous 
multitude  seething  past  the  windows.  They 
sought  and  found  a  tall  and  graceful  woman 
attended  by  a  man  with  a  tired,  dark  face.  It 
was  the  woman  o'f  the  photograph  she  had  loved 
at  first  sight.  Swarming  coolies  had  leaped 
upon  the  step  and  flung  open  the  door.  She 


54         THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN 

pushed  past  the  odorous  crew  and  ploughed  her 
way  towards  her  advancing  cousins. 

Eve,  gazing  inquiringly  at  the  arrival,  realised 
that  both  of  her  forebodings  had  come  true. 
Celia  was  hopelessly  dowdy,  but  she  was  also 
hopelessly  pretty.  She  clasped  the  girl's  out- 
stretched hands,  smiling  a  little  coldly,  and 
handed  her  on  to  Denis,  who  greeted  her  with  a 
ready  warmth  that  comforted  her  vague  dis- 
appointment. 

Eve  was  thanking  Mrs.  Cunningham  for 
taking  care  of  her  cousin,  and  she  whispered  a 
hasty  question. 

"•What  is  she  like?"  repeated  the  wearied 
traveller.  "  You'll  soon  see.  I'm  simply 
shattered." 

Eve  turned  away  disconsolately,  prepared  to 
be  shattered  also. 


CHAPTER    VI 

CELIA  surveyed  her  first  dinner-party.  At  one 
end  of  the  long  table  Eve's  beautiful  head  was 
bent  towards  the  General,  whose  face  showed 
appreciation  of  her  gay  mood.  At  the  other  end 
Denis  struggled  with  his  partner,  who  was  always 
so  busy  making  other  women  remember  she  was 
a  General's  wife  that  she  had  no  time  for  any- 
thing else.  As  a  mere  Captain's  wife  she  had 
been  bright,  and  popular  with  everybody  except 
married  subalterns.  As  a  Colonel's  wife  she 
had  been  only  bearable ;  as  a  General's  consort 
she  was  insufferable.  It  was  unfortunate  that 
in  appearance  she  was  stout  and  motherly,  con- 
veying an  impression  of  boundless  good-nature 
that  had  caused  discomfiture  to  many  a  shy 
stranger  who  had  dared  to  approach  her  Olympic 
solitude  in  the  Club  drawing-room.  She  sat 
solitary  because  the  supply  of  her  peers  was 
so  scanty  ;  imagine,  then,  her  wrath  when  an 
ignorant  woman,  newly  come  to  the  station,  and 
only  in  the  Public  .Works  Department,  cheerily 
invited  her  to  share  her  coffee-pot  and  toast - 
dish. 

Between  the  opposite  poles  of  greatness  sat 


56         THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN 

two  long  lines  of  assorted  guests.  To  Celia's 
share  had  fallen  a  stray  subaltern  who  detested 
"  flappers  "  and  admired  Ethel  Cunningham. 
Their  conversation  progressed  heavily,  but  he 
could  not  escape,  for  he  had  omitted  to  call  on 
the  woman  who  sat  at  his  other  hand,  and  she 
turned  a  resolute  shoulder  to  his  feeble  attempts 
at  social  intercourse.  He  had  begun  with  polo, 
but  Celia  had  not  even  heard  of  it,  and  though 
she  showed  a  polite  readiness  to  be  instructed, 
he  plainly  did  not  consider  her  worth  the  trouble. 
The  dinner  was  good,  and  he  ate  it  thankfully, 
knowing  that  dull  people  and  bad  dinners 
usually  go  together,  and  that  when  there  is  no 
food  for  the  mind  the  body  also  is  apt  to  go 
hungry. 

Presently  he  tried  dancing  as  a  topic,  but  Celia 
said  she  could  not  dance,  at  which  he  brightened, 
glad  that  Mrs.  Lang  could  not  exact  payment 
for  her  hospitality  by  causing  him  to  help  in  the 
filling  of  Miss  Ferriby's  programme. 

Celia  realised  with  disappointment  that  her 
first  masculine  acquaintance  was  extremely  dull. 
He  showed  not  the  slightest  sign  of  falling 
passionately  in  love  with  her,  and  he  was  fat 
and  red-haired,  two  insuperable  obstacles  to 
romance.  So  she  stared  at  the  other  women  and 
listened  to  the  snatches  of  conversation  that 
buzzed  round  her.  She  was  astonished  at  Eve's 
calm  acceptation  of  her  General. 

"  I   should  never   dare   to   talk   like   that   to 


THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN         57 

Generals,"  she  said  confidentially  to  Mr.  Mac- 
intyre,  nodding  in  the  direction  of  Eve,  who  was 
telling  a  story  of  humorous  import.  The  General 
laughed  as  Eve's  hands  portrayed  the  final 
despair  of  the  climax. 

"  He  admires  Mrs.  Lang  tremendously,"  re- 
turned the  subaltern,  glad  to  find  a  source  of 
common  interest  at  last. 

"  But  he  married  the  fat  red  woman  by  Cousin 
Denis,"  said  Celia. 

"  She  made  him."  Mr.  Macintyre's  tone  was 
vindictive.  '*  She  makes  every  one  do  just  exactly 
what  they  don't  want.  She  even  sends  for  me 
to  make  up  a  four  at  tennis  on  polo  days — mixed 
tennis,  too." 

Celia  realised  that  this  crime,  in  some  mys- 
terious way,  was  enormous.  She  looked  at  the 
subaltern  with  a  dawning  interest  as  some  one 
who  might  help  her  to  understand  India. 

"  Is  polo  the  wonderfullest  thing  in  the 
world?  "  she  questioned.  Mr.  Macintyre  sus- 
pected sarcasm,  but  a  glance  at  Celia's  unclouded 
child's  eyes  reassured  him. 

"  .What  do  you  like  doing  best  of  anything 
in  the  world?  " 

Celia  plunged  into  deep  meditation,  then  came 
to  the  surface  again  with  serious  brows. 

"  I  don't  know  yet,"  she  replied.  "  I  have 
never  done  anything  nice  in  all  my  life  until 
three  weeks  ago,  so  I  haven't  tried  things. 
Riding  will  be  jolly,  and  reading  novels  I  like, 


58         THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN 

and  tennis  will  be  nice  when  Eve  has  time  to 
teach  me.  But  I  really  think  I  shall  enjoy  falling 
in  love  best  of  all." 

Mr.  Macintyre  started  violently.  He  enjoyed 
improper  conversation  as  much  as  any  one  whose 
literary  tastes  are  guided  and  formed  by  picture 
papers  and  novels  of  a  vivid  prurience.  But, 
like  Mrs.  Cunningham,  he  was  shocked  to  hear 
this  callow  child  talk  in  so  unveiled  a  manner. 
She  did  not  mean  to  be  funny,  he  decided,  after 
a  glance  at  her  earnest  face,  and  she  certainly 
did  not  intend  her  remark  as  an  invitation  for 
him  to  begin  to  make  love  at  once.  It  was  pure 
ignorance,  he  concluded,  and  began  to  feel  that 
there  was  sport  for  him  after  all.  He  was  framing 
a  question  that  should  sound  artless  and  convey 
volumes,  when  Celia's  face  clouded  in  obvious 
vexation. 

•'-  There  !  "  she  exclaimed.  "I've  been  talking 
about  it  again,  and  I  promised  Mrs.  Cunningham 
I  wouldn't." 

"Wouldn't  what?" 

"  Wouldn't  talk  to  Eve  about  wanting  to  fall 
in  love.  And  now  I've  gone  and  done  it  to  you, 
and  I  expect  she'd  say  that  was  worse." 

"  I  expect  she  might,"  agreed  Macintyre. 
"  But  do  you  mean  to  say  Mrs.  Cunningham 
lectured  you  on  your  topics  of  conversation? 
Lord  I  how  rich." 

"  Why  shouldn't  she?  She  knows  better  than 
I  do  what  girls  don't  talk  about." 


THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN         59 

44  Probably  she  does ;  but,  look  here,  don't 
you  mind  what  she  said;  talk  to  me  as  much 
as  you  like,  I  won't  tell." 

Celia  looked  inquiry  which  merged  into  dis- 
taste. It  was  obviously  time  wasted  to  discuss 
love  with  a  young  man  whose  face  was  fat  and 
whose  hair  was  red.  To  her  relief  and  to 
the  ingenuous  Macintyre's  disappointment,  Eve 
smiled  a  message  down  the  table  to  the  General's 
wife,  and  the  ladies  rose  fluttering  towards  the 
door.  In  the  drawing-room  she  was  joined  by 
the  only  other  girl  of  the  party.  The  two  had 
been  introduced  before  dinner  with  injunctions 
from  Eve  to  make  friends. 

The  elder  girl  surveyed  her;  she  was  not 
at  all  inclined  to  dislike  Miss  Ferriby  because 
she  was  badly  dressed.  Dorothea  Philpot's 
serious  business  in  life  was  to  marry  a  civilian 
and  flirt  with  soldiers  ever  after;  she  distrusted 
and  disliked  new  girls  likely  to  claim  admiration 
and  diminish  her  own  chance  of  marrying  a 
pension,  but  Celia  did  not  look  dangerous. 

"  iWho  did  you  get?  "  she  inquired,  motioning 
Celia  to  a  chair  at  her  side.  "  The  flowers  hid 
your  partner." 

"  A  fat  boy,  red-haired,"  returned  Celia 
briefly, 

"Mr.  Macintyre;  Indian  army,  not  much 
catch,  puts  on  side  for  nothing.  I  had  Mr. 
Hemingway,  frightfully  dull  and  stodgy  like  all 
civilians.  It  is  a  nuisance  to  be  poor." 


60         THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN 

"Yes;  isn't  it?  But  what  has  that  to  do 
with  civilians?  " 

"  Because  if  you're  poor  you  have  to  marry 
one,  and  they're  so  appallingly  dull.  You  can't 
marry  a  soldier  unless  he  or  you  have  private 
means,  and  soldiers  with  private  means  always 
seem  to  be  snapped  up  by  pretty  widows.  A 
girl  never  has  the  ghost  of  a  chance." 

This  was  a  new  light  on  India.  Girls  did  not 
talk  of  love-making,  but  evidently  they  might 
discuss  marriage,  a  topic  which  was  over  Celia's 
horizon.  Meantime  the  General's  wife  oppressed 
Eve. 

"  I  thoroughly  approve  of  Mrs.  Larkin,"  she 
domineered.  "  She  is  a  sweet  woman,  you  never 
hear  a  word  of  gossip  fall  from  her  lips." 

"  She  prides  herself  on  that,"  admitted  Eve. 
"  I  know  she  doesn't  subtract  from  her  friends' 
characters,  but  she  does  a  far  more  evil  thing, 
she  adds  to  the  size  of  their  waists.  I  hate  a 
woman  who  won't  gossip  healthily  but  will  say 
in  a  hushed  whisper  that  Mrs.  Lang  is  really 
getting  fat.  It's  a  monomania  with  her  because 
she  is  so  scraggy  (she  calls  it  '  slim  '  herself), 
and  I  wish  she  would  drop  it  and  take  to  the 
kind  of  gossip  which  is  quite  good  enough  for 
the  ordinary  woman.  I'd  much  rather  be  accused 
of  a  lover  than  of  an  extra  inch  in  my  corsets." 

Mrs.  Limousin  had  forgotten  all  the  inglorious 
past  when  other  women  were  Generals'  wives, 
and  she  was  unimportant  enough  to  dare  flirta- 


THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN          61 

tions ;  she  considered  the  mention  of  corsets  even 
more  indecorous,  and  decided  silently  that  this 
came  of  dining  with  civilians,  who  could  not  be 
expected  to  realise  the  respect  due  to  her.  Of 
course  Archibald  insisted  on  coming  ;  he  never 
had  a  previous  engagement  when  a  pretty  woman 
wrote  a  dinner  invitation,  and  he  was  strangely 
prone  to  forget  the  rank  she  upheld  so  vigorously. 

Celia  forgot  Miss  Philpot  for  the  moment, 
and  listened  to  Eve,  trying  to  understand  the 
new  ideas  that  crowded  in  upon  her  impression- 
able mind.  But  Mrs.  Limousin  looked  meaningly 
towards  her  with  a  gesture  pregnant  of  remarks 
concerning  little  pitchers.  Eve  turned  the  con- 
versation, and  they  talked  peacea,bly  of  the  price 
of  mutton,  which  is  several  annas  dearer  to 
the  General's  wife  than  to  a  humble  civilian. 
Although  she  loved  money,  Mrs.  Limousin  prided 
herself  on  the  enhanced  price  her  state  forced 
her  to  pay,  and  lost  no  opportunity  of  discussing 
her  cook's  account  in  public. 

The  men  came  in  and  Miss  Philpot,  for  once 
evading  duty  and  the  civilian  bearing  down  on 
her,  escaped  into  a  corner  with  Mr.  Macintyre. 
The  disappointed  civilian  turned  his  choice  to 
Celia,  and  talked  to  her  solidly  about  a  new 
Irrigation  Bill.  Celia's  blue  eyes  apparently  ex- 
pressed enthralled  interest.  He  had  never  found 
so  good  a  listener,  and  would  have  been  horrified 
to  learn  that  Celia  had  not  the  faintest  con- 
ception of  the  meaning  of  irrigation,  and  her 


62         THE  .UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN 

rapt  air  was  due  to  fanciful  flights  over  the 
days  to  come,  not  to  any  present  interest  in 
civilian  conversation. 

The  after-dinner  ordeal  was  not  long;  there 
was  no  music,  and  Archibald  was  seen  to  be 
hovering  near  Mrs.  Tinsley,  whose  prettiness 
could  not  atone  for  the  fact  that  her  husband 
was  only  in  the  police.  Mrs.  Limousin,  there- 
fore, rose  earlier  than  she  intended  and  bore 
her  General  a: way  from  temptation. 

When  the  last  guest  was  gone  and  Eve  stood 
rather  wearily  in  front  of  the  fire,  Denis  came 
in  from  the  veranda  to  say  good-night  to  his 
guest. 

"  How  did  you  get  on?  "  he  asked.  "  I'm 
sorry  we  didn't  raise  any  one  better  for  you 
than  Macintyre,  but  I  got  him  at  the  last  moment, 
and  I  didn't  quite  know  whom  to  choose  for 
you.  I  haven't  had  time  to  decide  what  kind 
of  a  young  lady  you  are  going  to  turn  out — not 
a  Dolly  Philpot,  I  hope?  " 

"  Isn't  Miss  Philpot  nice?  "  inquired  Celia 
anxiously.  "  I  rather  thought  I  might  copy  the 
way  she  does  her  hair." 

"  I  know  nothing  about  her  hair.  Don't  copy 
her  manners,  that's  all." 

Celia  turned  to  Eve. 

"What  do  you  think  about  her?" 

41 1  think  it  is  time  to  go  to  bed,  and  wait 
for  to-morrow  for  any  lessons  in  deportment 
and  hairdressing  you  may  crave."  Eve's  charm- 


THE   UNKNOWN  STEEKSMAN         63 

ing  smile  lighted  her  face  and  put  to  flight 
Celia's  recurring  suspicion  that  she  was  not  quite 
welcome  in  her  cousin's  house.  The  second  day 
of  her  Indian  life  was  spent ;  she  meant  to  stay 
awake  to  think  it  all  over,  but  her  youthful 
weariness  conquered,  and  she  was  soon  asleep 
and  dreaming  of  the  coming  lovers. 


CHAPTER    VII 

THE  morning  after  the  dinner-party  Eve  and 
her  new  cousin  sat  in  conclave  in  Eve's 
dressing-room.  Celia's  openly  humble  phase  of 
adoration  provided  a  little  balm  for  her  cousin's 
irritable  spirit. 

"  You  must  tell  me  everything,  and  I'll  try 
my  best  to  be  what  you  want.  I  might  even 
grow  like  you  in  time,"  she  remarked  with 
flattering  hopefulness. 

Eve  was  gazing  at  her  companion's  head,  and 
with  a  sudden  movement  she  swept  her  to  the 
chair  in  front  of  her  dressing-table. 

"  I  can't  evolve  new  frocks  in  five  minutes, 
but  I  might  improve  your  Lincolnshire  style  of 
hair-dressing,"  she  said,  her  quick  fingers  busy 
with  the  black  skewers  Celia  called  her  hair- 
pins. The  soft  flix  and  floss  was  soon  about 
her  shoulders,  and  between  the  golden  mesh 
anxious  blue  eyes  peered  at  the  reflection  in  the 
looking-glass.  Neither  spoke  as  Eve  manipu- 
lated the  strands,  pinching,  puffing,  pinning  in 
unexpected  places.  At  last,  with  a  final  dive 
into  her  own  hairpin  box,  Eve  gave  her  hand- 
glass into  Celia's  eager  grasp  and  watched  the 


THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN          65 

child's  face  as  she  peered  this  way  and  that, 
holding  her  chin  at  impossible  angles  and  cran- 
ing her  neck  to  realise  all  effects.  At  last  she 
put  the  glass  down  with  a  sigh  of  delight. 

"  I've  got  a  shape  to  my  head  now  ;  you  are 
clever,  cousin  Eve." 

"  It  isn't  so  lumpy  as  it  was,  certainly,"  said 
Eve  with  a  critical  eye.  "The  next  thing  is 
to  see  about  giving  you  a  shape  to  your  body 
before  you  clothe  it  with  decent  garments.  As 
for  your  mind,  I'm  afraid  I  can't  be  responsible 
for  that." 

"  It's  just  as  lumpy  as  my  hair,  I'm  afraid," 
returned  Celia  gloomily.  "  It  has  been  fed  so 
badly.  But  I'll  do  some  serious  reading,  French 
and  things,  every  morning  if  you  like." 

Eve  looked  a  little  frightened  at  the  thought 
of  directing  serious  reading  for  a  youthful  mind, 
and  she  made  a  hasty  suggestion  that  Denis 
should  be  consulted  after  dinner. 

"  Cousin  Denis  works  dreadfully  hard,  doesn't 
he?"  went  on  Celia.  "  Does  he  ever  let  you 
help?  " 

"  Never  ;  I  don't  know  anything  about  his 
work." 

"  I  helped  my  guardian  a  lot,"  said  Celia 
importantly.  "  I  am  awfully  clever  at  cutting 
out  flannel  petticoats.  I  could  make  one  for 
Dicky  any  time  you  liked,  with  scalloped  edges 
too." 

"  I  don't  think  I  will  bother  you  just  yet, 
5 


66         THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN 

You  must  just  enjoy  yourself.  But  this  morning 
I  am  going  to  Government  House  to  call,  so 
please  be  ready  at  twelve  o'clock." 

Soon  after  the  midday  gun  had  boomed  from 
the  artillery  lines  Eve's  walers  trotted  swiftly 
across  the  park  and  past  the  native  guard  at  the 
twisted  iron  gates  of  Government  House.  Then 
they  slackened  into  the  steady  stream  of  carts 
and  carriages  bearing  the  station  to  its  first  duty 
call  for  the  season  on  the  Lieutenant-Governor's 
wife.  Under  the  portico  Celia  watched  Eve 
extract  her  cards  from  a  silver  case  and  put 
them  on  a  tray  held  by  a  chaprassi  gorgeously 
apparelled  in  scarlet  and  gold.  The  cards  pre- 
ceded them  up  the  steps  and  were  delivered  into 
the  hands  of  the  most  beautiful  personage  she 
had  ever  seen. 

The  perfect  A.D.C.  is  not  often  found.  Sir 
George  Kendall,  with  his  usual  talent,  had  dis- 
covered one  to  pick  up  Lady  Kendall's  pocket- 
handkerchief  and  arrange  the  flowers  for  the 
dinner-table.  Captain  Riplingham  picked  up 
handkerchiefs  better  than  any  other  A.D.C. 
Gazing  raptly  at  the  fallen  morsel  of  lace  and 
muslin,  he  would  bend  deferentially  towards  it, 
touch  it  as  one  fingering  a  sacred  relic,  and 
restore  it  to  Lady  Kendall  with  a  sacramental 
air.  His  other  claim  to  perfection  was  his  wel- 
coming smile,  which  could  outlast  the  hot 
minutes  from  twelve  to  two  on  a  Monday  morn- 
ing, when  Lady  Kendall  received  and  Sir  George 


THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN         67 

fled  with  his  secretary  to  the  innermost  shrine. 
Truly  his  method  was  perfection.  Raising 
the  cards  from  the  tray  tendered  by  the 
uppermost  of  the  string  of  chaprassis  that 
extended  from  the  carriage  door  to  the  top  step, 
Captain  Riplingham  always  read  the  names  with 
the  surprised  delight  of  one  upon  whom  too 
much  joy  is  suddenly  showered.  Looking  down 
upon  the  advancing  face  that  belonged  to  the 
card,  his  radiant  smile  showed  the  caller  that  she 
was  the  one  woman  for  whom  he  waited.  Clasp- 
ing her  hand  and  edging  her  swiftly  through  the 
entrance  hall,  with  his  beautiful  curls  bent 
towards  her  hat,  he  murmured  intense  assur- 
ances of  his  pleasure  in  her  coming,  until  they 
were  actually  in  the  presence,  and  he  had 
delivered  his  charge  to  Lady  Kendall.  Then  he 
glided  back  with  all  speed  to  repeat  his  tireless 
smile . 

Celia,  coming  up  the  steps  behind  Eve,  was 
caught  in  the  glamour  of  it,  for  her  cousin  turned 
aside  suddenly  to  greet  a  fellow-caller.  She 
smiled  back  at  the  beautiful  man  in  his  beautiful 
uniform,  and  blushed  with  the  tender  pink  that 
proclaimed  her  lately  come  from  England.  Miss 
Celia  Ferriby's  name,  written  in  pencil  under 
Eve's,  told  him  nothing,  but  he  had  time  to 
catch  an  indifferent  murmur  of  "a  young  cousin 
of  my  husband's." 

Celia  thought  the  long  journey  up  the  state 
drawing-room  would  never  end.  At  last,  between 


68         THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN 

the  lines  of  brocade  sofas  and  stiff  chairs,  she 
found  herself  stopped  in  front  of  a  merry-faced 
little  old  lady  with  silvery  hair.  She  had  but 
stammered  a  word  when  Eve's  hand  at  her  elbow 
moved  her  firmly  and  deposited  her  on  a  vacant 
sofa.  There  she  sat  and  stared  at  the  room. 
The  walls  were  dark  with  heavy  oil  paintings 
of  long  dead  Governors  and  rajahs.  From  the 
ceiling  hung  enormous  glass  chandeliers  with 
lustres  like  those  which  had  still  decorated 
certain  of  the  rectory  mantelpieces.  The  pre- 
vailing tone  of  the  room  was  pale  ginger,  but 
there  was  something  imposing,  after  all,  in  its 
proportions,  and  even  Celia's  ignorance  realised 
the  costliness  of  the  yellow  brocaded  furniture. 
A  subdued  hum  filled  the  room.  Captain 
Riplingham  conveyed  a  new  party  between  the 
lines  of  chairs,  and  presented  them,  like  a  costly 
offering,  to  Lady  Kendall,  from  whom  they 
dropped  aside,  right  and  left,  after  a  moment's 
conversation,  to  give  place  to  the  next  comers. 
Five  swift  moments  passed  and  Celia  was  again 
before  the  presence,  this  time  clasping  its 
diamond  rings  in  a  too  hurried  farewell.  It  was 
not  thus  that  visits  were  paid  in  the  Fens,  but 
Eve  knew  best  of  course,  and  the  girl  soon  found 
herself  in  the  entrance-hall  where  the  sacred 
books  lay  open  on  tables,  and  Eve  spoiled  her 
gloves  during  the  careful  inscribing  of  their 
names.  The  two  streams  met  here  ;  the  anxious 
faces  of  those  entering  looked  up  at  those  who 


THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN         69 

had  been  presented  and  lingered  idly  now  at  the 
top  of  the  great  flight  of  steps  that  gave  on 
to  the  portico. 

Eve  turned  to  greet  her  friends,  and  Celia, 
left  to  her  own  devices,  fell  to  gazing  at  Captain 
Riplingham,  till  a  divine  moment  came  when  he 
returned  to  the  hall  and  found  no  carriage  under 
the  portico,  his  office  for  one  moment  vacant. 
He  looked  away  from  the  smiles  eager  to  attract 
his,  and  stood  at  Celia's  side.  The  most  modest 
soul  could  not  have  mistaken  the  import  of  the 
child's  gaze.  Admiration  sat  in  her  shining  eyes 
and  excitement  summoned  the  flush  that  recalled 
an  English  springtide  :  Captain  Riplingham 
knew  his  own  value,  but  he  had  never  seen  it 
so  openly  estimated  as  this.  As  a  rule  he  dis- 
liked girls,  the  Anglo -Indian  variety  who  were 
a  care  to  him  at  Government  House  balls  and 
possessed  the  knowledge  of  married  women 
curiously  linked  with  the  crudity  of  youth. 

He  looked  down  now  into  the  uplifted  blue 
eyes  and  infused  a  sudden  tenderness  into  his 
smile . 

"  You  have  just  come  out,  haven't  you?  "  The 
commonplace  words  came  with  an  eager  lilt  that 
impressed  her  callowness.  "And  how  are  you 
going  to  like  India?  " 

Last  night,  or  even  early  this  morning,  Celia 
had  not  been  certain.  She  had  breathed  a  tiny 
sigh  at  the  thought  of  the  rectory  boiled  eggs 
and  marmalade  when  noiseless  khitmatgars 


70         THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN 

poked  successive  unknown  dishes  round  her  left 
arm.  She  had  shrunk  a  little  from  the  jingling 
ayah  who  had  insisted  on  putting  her  stockings 
on  for  her,  after  presenting  her  with  a  boiling- 
hot  bath  instead  of  the  cold  water  she  had  vainly 
asked. 

But  now  a  sudden  interest  held  her,  and  her 
tone  was  fervent  as  she  replied  with  eyes  and 
voice . 

"I'm  going  to  like  it  most  awfully,"  she  said. 
"  People  look  so  nice,  and  I'm  sure  they  will 
be  kind." 

"  People  always  are,"  said  the  A.D.C.  menda- 
ciously—" at  any  rate,  to  the  latest  damsel 
out  from  home.  You  must  tell  me  next  time 
we  meet."  A  fresh  carriage  swept  up  and 
Captain  Riplingham  posed  once  more  at  the  top 
of  the  steps. 

Celia  drove  away  with  his  words  ringing  in 
her  foolish  ears  ;  they  were  to  meet  again,  and 
when  they  met  he  would  talk  to  her.  Eve's 
silence  allowed  a  lengthened  reverie,  and  the 
child's  vain  imaginings  ran  far  afield  as  they 
busied  themselves  with  hunting  the  future. 

As  a  matter  of  fact  the  chase  was  bound 
to  prove  unsatisfying.  An  A.D.C.  lives  and 
moves  in  the  white  light  that  beats  about  ;the 
drawing-rooms  of  Government  House.  The 
smiles  of  the  perfect  A.D.C.  must  be  care- 
fully distributed.  Though  he  may  lavish  his 
more  fervid  efforts  on  the  wives  of  Chief  Secre- 


THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN          71 

taries  or  High  Court  Judges,  his  only  business 
with  girls  is  to  see  their  programmes  are  full 
when  His  Honour  gives  a  ball.  And  if  they 
be  attractive  they  need  no  attention  of  this  kind. 

No  girl,  therefore,  should  fall  in  love  with 
an  A.D.C.,  however  beautiful  his  uniform, 
however  winning  his  smile.  It  is  time  wasted. 
He  cannot  sit  with  her  in  the  farther  corner  of 
the  club  veranda  where  the  electric  light  has 
not  yet  penetrated  and  the  chaperones  find  the 
elderly  wicker  chairs  uncomfortable.  At  garden 
parties  he  must  hover  near  His  Honour  and 
His  Honour's  consort. 

He  is,  in  fact,  a  slave  with  beautifully  gilded 
chains.  But  Gelia  was  ignorant,  and  she  did 
not  know  all  this.  In  the  stories  of  the  "  Kitchen 
Myosotis  "  girls  had  it  all  their  own  way  ;  the 
final  defeat  of  the  married  and  designing 
villainess  with  scarlet  lips  and  flashing  eyes 
invariably  came  at  the  hands  of  the  unsophisti- 
cated maiden.  The  thought  comforted  her  later 
when  at  times  she  realised  her  inferiority  to  the 
married  women  round  her — when  she  crept  into 
a  room  feeling  obscured  by  Eve's  compelling 
personality,  found  herself  tongue-tied  while  Eve's 
golden  voice  lent  a  charm  to  the  merest  idleness 
of  conversation .  Celia's  temperament  was  hopeful, 
and  she  possessed  a  dogged  tenacity  beneath 
her  yielding  exterior  of  pink  and  white.  She 
bided  her  time  while  her  childish  blue  eyes 
probed  and  balanced  the  issues  of  the  daily 


72          THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN 

events  of  her  new  life.  Even  Mrs.  Lang's 
indifferent  composure  would  have  been  stirred 
had  she  realised  the  absorbed  interest  that  her 
cousin  took  in  her  affair  with  Captain  Staniforth. 
The  child  seemed  so  unformed,  so  crudely 
ignorant,  so  incapable  of  taking  in  the  subtle 
meaning  of  their  friendship.  Eve  could  not 
understand  that  the  vicar's  system  of  education 
had  trained  her  little  cousin's  mind  hopelessly 
awry. 

A  woman's  dominating  principle  is  sentiment. 
The  warm  fountain  gushes  spontaneously  from 
her  heart  ;  properly  directed  the  waters  flow 
into  appointed  channels,  and  flowers  of  wifely 
affection,  sympathy,  maternal  instinct  spring  up. 
Choke  the  spring  of  natural  sentiment  and  the 
waters  turn  sour  and  the  suffragette  is  born, 
or  they  overflow  and  doctors  diagnose  neurotic 
tendencies . 

Celia's  abundant  sentiment  had  been  checked 
from  babyhood  ;  she  had  not  even  been  allowed 
a  puppy  to  caress.  All  unconsciously  the  vicar 
had  played  into  the  hands  of  the  devil  he  meant 
to  checkmate.  Instead  of  passing  harmlessly, 
away  in  girlish  friendships,  instead  of  being 
lavished,  foolishly  enough  but  safely,  on  pets 
and  babies,  Celia's  sentiment  grew  silently  into 
an  obsession , 

The  old  man  could  lock  many  "doors,  but  if 
he  had  read  fairy  tales  he  would  have  known 
that  the  highest  tower,  the  strongest  prison,  is 


THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN         73 

not  proof  against  the  evil  fairy's  curse.  Also  he 
trusted  in  God,  and  he  had  never  read  "  The 
Blot  on  the  'Scutcheon."  Thus  life  conspired 
against  Celia,  gave  her  the  ill -printed  pages  of 
the  "  Kitchen  Myosotis  "  to  guide  her  un- 
mothered  steps,  and  brought  her  to  an  environ- 
ment in  which  the  woman  she  admired  rejoiced 
openly  in  the  attentions  of  a  man  who  was  not 
her  husband. 


CHAPTER    VIII 

To  fall  in  love  with  an  A.D.C.  is  usually  hope- 
less, but  sometimes  it  happens  that  he  comes 
down  from  his  pedestal,  and,  returning  to  his 
regiment,  is  once  more  on  a  level  with  common 
men.  This  happened  to  Captain  Riplingham. 

Not  many  days  after  Celia's  arrival  there  came 
a  great  crisis  in  Indian  politics.  Labour 
Members  at  home,  who  knew  nothing  even  of 
England  except  their  little  back  street  in  Hoxton, 
attempted  to  meddle  with  the  destiny  of  a  million 
brown  brothers  of  theirs,  scratching  with  their 
primitive  ploughs  the  surface  of  a  strange 
country  across  the  sea.  The  Labour  Members 
were  insistent  on  the  term  "  brother,"  ignorant 
of  the  fact  that  the  brown  men  would  have 
refused  to  break  bread  with  them,  would  have 
seen  pollution  in  their  very  shadow  fallen 
unwittingly  across  a  prepared  meal. 

Sir  George  Kendall  had  given  his  life  to  India. 
He  had  slaved  through  famine  districts  and 
plague -infected  areas,  he  had  learnt  as  much 
about  the  brown  brother  as  a  patient  genius  with 
an  infinite  capacity  for  overwork  can  attain  in  one 
strenuous  lifetime.  Then  the  Labour  Members, 


THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN         75 

weary  for  a  moment  of  heckling  their  white 
brothers  at  home,  turned  to  help  Sir  George 
Kendall  to  administer  his  province. 

They  made  as  much  noise  over  this  as  they 
had  made  in  London  over  subjects  they  under- 
stood as  little.  They  were  helped  by  a  few  men 
of  a  different  calibre,  but  quite  as  dangerous, 
for  they  had  held  office  in  India  and  retired, 
imagining  themselves  insufficiently  rewarded  for 
their  services,  to  wreak  spite  against  more 
fortunate  colleagues. 

The  cables  began  to  bring  heated  messages. 
Sir  George  Kendall  went  calmly  on  his  path. 
His  authority  was  questioned,  undermined, 
broken.  Lady  Kendall  saw  her  state  threatened, 
and  pictured  retirement  to  West  Kensington 
without  her  A.D.C.,  but  she  had  not  been  an 
Indian  civilian's  wife  for  nothing,  and  she  was 
a  brave  woman .  When  the  final  cable  announced 
the  acceptance  of  her  husband's  resignation  she 
faced  it  unbroken  and  bade  an  unfaltering  fare- 
well to  the  ginger -coloured  state  drawing-room. 

White  and  brown  brothers  thronged  the  rail- 
way station  to  say  goodbye,  white  clad  in  the 
frock-coats  of  ceremony,  brown  in  wonderful 
brocades  and  aigretted  turbans  stiff  with 
emeralds  and  rubies.  The  white  women  sat  in 
rows  on  a  red-carpeted  dais  built  along  the 
station  platform  ;  their  brown  sisters  sat  at  home 
behind  the  parda  lest  by  chance  they  might  risk 
the  contamination  of  a  male  gaze. 


76         THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN 

The  echoing  whitewashed  station  was  bright 
with  strings  of  flags  and  red  carpet.  Amid  the 
seething  throng  of  salaaming  Indians  and 
Englishmen  who  were  stiff  with  repression  of 
their  true  regret,  Captain  Riplingham  stood 
deferentially  bearing  Lady  Kendall's  little  silk 
bag,  from  which  he  extracted  smelling  salts  and 
handkerchiefs  as  the  occasion  demanded. 

When  the  last  farewell  was  said,  the  last 
salaam  acknowledged,  and  the  special  train 
began  to  glide  past  the  platform,  Celia's  eyes 
were  fixed  on  the  saloon  set  apart  for  the 
A.D.C.  and  the  private  secretary,  journeying 
to  Bombay  to  prolong  the  Kendalls'  state  for 
two  poor  days  more.  When  he  came  back,  he 
would  be  a  free  man  again,  and  they  two  could 
ride  and  drive  together  like  Eve  and  Captain 
Staniforth. 


CHAPTER    IX 

CAPTAIN  RIPLINGHAM  journeyed  back  from 
Bombay,  and  his  smile,  unfettered  at  last,  warmed 
Celia's  waiting  heart  into  a  glow.  He  suddenly 
found  himself  weary  of  married  women  ;  he 
had  so  long  been  heavily  oppressed  by  the 
pomp  and  state  of  the  ginger -coloured  drawing- 
room  that  he  turned  joyously  to  the  new 
experience  of  an  infantile,  dewy,  pink-and-white 
girl  ready  to  topple  head  over  ears  in  love 
with  him. 

On  his  behalf  it  may  be  said  that  he  did  not 
understand  what  he  was  doing.  No  man,  one 
must  think,  can  fully  realise  the  whiteness  of  a 
girl's  mind,  the  unsullied  ignorance  she  brings  to 
face  the  world.  If  he  could  but  realise  the 
complete  blank  that  exists,  he  would  shrink  from 
being  the  first  to  scrawl  on  it  the  ugly  words 
and  sentences  of  his  own  imaginings. 

'There  is  argument  at  times  on  the  amount  of 
sexual  knowledge  a  mother  should  teach  her  girl . 
She  might  leave  the  white  mind  white  if  only 
a  man  could  understand  its  whiteness.  But  he 
is  beyond  its  realisation  for  two  reasons  :  his 

77 


78         THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN 

own  mind  has  been  smirched  so  long  that  white- 
ness does  not  occur  to  him  as  a  possibility,  and 
the  woman  who  might  explain  things  to  him, 
looking  back  half  in  surprise,  half  in  pity,  wholly 
regretful  at  her  strange  ignorance  before  he  took 
her  in  hand,  keeps  silence. 

The  point  of  this  little  disquisition  is  not  that 
any  special  virtue  is  claimed  for  the  girl's  white 
mind,  nor  that  the  man  is  to  be  blamed  when 
his  shadow  has  passed  over  it  ;  but  simply  that 
no  man  believes  in  the  intact  purity  he  cannot 
understand. 

Celia  was  foolish,  vain,  and  self  -centred,  but 
her  ignorance  of  life  was  incredibly  complete. 
Passion  was  a  mysterious  power  that  fell  upon 
a  man  and  made  him  adore  a  woman  ;  it  would 
be  "  fun  "  to  be  adored,  so  Celia  intended  to 
awake  passion.  She  even  knew  a  little  how  it 
was  to  be  done,  her  very  touch  was  to  make  a 
strong  man  tremble. 

Pure  idleness  of  thought  drew  Celia  to  Captain 
Riplingham  at  first,  but  soon  a  heavier  shackle 
was  wrought .  She  discovered  that  she  was 
musical.  At  home  she  had  hated  choir  practices 
and  the  harmonium,  and  though  she  sang  about 
the  house  when  the  vicar  was  out  and  the  air 
clear  of  sermons,  she  had  known  nothing  to  sing 
except  hymns  and  chants,  and  possessing  no 
devout  spirit,  the  words  and  tunes  had  looked 
colourless  to  her. 

Then  in  Eve's  lamplit  drawing-room  Captain 


THE   UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN          79 

Riplingham  sang  a  foolish  little  song  about  a 
woman's  eyes,  and  the  passion  in  his  voice  woke 
something  in  Celia  so  that  she  listened  with  all 
the  young  soul  in  her  out  at  doors.  The  plead- 
ing passion  in  the  notes  seemed  to  beseech  her, 
to  drag  her  heart  against  its  will.  It  almost 
dragged  her  body,  and  she  found  herself  longing 
to  go  nearer  the  piano  where  the  singer  swayed 
with  the  insistence  of  his  passionate  devotion 
to  a  pair  of  sad  grey  eyes.  When  the  song  was 
over  his  gaze,  directed  somewhere  towards  the 
ceiling  cloth,  came  back  to  Celia's  level,  and 
he  saw  that  he  had  harped  the  soul  out  of 
her. 

Henceforth  she  knew  music  as  a  lure,  and 
the  man's  practised  eye  saw  that  by  his  voice 
he  could  command  her  anything.  The  most 
foolish  drawing-room  song  was  the  music  of 
Venus  berg  to  her  ;  and  he  loved  to  work  upon 
her  harpstrung  nerves  and  make  her  his  for  the 
five -minute  space  his  ballads  took  in  singing. 

Eve  encouraged  his  visits  by  Captain  Stani- 
f orth's  advice . 

"  You  see,"  said  the  warrior  ardently,  "  I  can't 
spare  you.  You  mustn't  waste  your  beautiful 
self  looking  after  a  little  country  girl.  She's  raw, 
too  raw  for  anything  yet.  Riplingham  seems  to 
have  taken  a  fancy  for  bread  and  butter  ;  let 
him  have  his  fancy.  He  will  tone  your  cousin 
down  in  no  time,  teach  her  no  end,  and  he's 
a  good  sort,  you  know." 


80         THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN 

It  was  in  Eve's  nature  to  take  a  man's  advice, 
to  believe  that  he  knew  better  than  a  woman 
on  every  conceivable  subject,  and  as  in  this  case 
the  advice  marched  with  her  own  inclination,  she 
bowed  to  his  wisdom. 

"  He  isn't  a  marrying  man,  of  course,  which 
is  a  good  thing,"  she  returned.  "  Celia  must 
marry  some  one  quite  old  and  sedate,  like  Denis. 
I  don't  think  she'll  ever  grow  up  ;  she  is  too 
delicious  sometimes."  And  forthwith  she  told 
him  one  or  two  stories  of  Celia's  infantile  speech 
and  behaviour,  stories  which  had  a  strange 
effect  on  her  listener,  who  felt  a  sudden  desire 
to  gather  a  few  such  gems  of  innocence  at  first 
hand.  When  the  child  appeared  a  moment  later 
in  the  drawing-room,  fresh  and  shy,  he  realised 
that  his  first  distaste  for  her  was  gone.  Rip- 
lingham  was  a  man  of  sense  and  discrimina- 
tion ;  his  unexpected  fancy  for  bread  and  butter 
showed  that  something  might  be  said  for  its 
flavour. 

The  dawning  interest  suffered  eclipse  when 
Celia  found  herself  too  shy  to  frame  an  excuse 
for  leaving  the  drawing-room,  and  even  too  shy 
to  talk,  so  that  she  sat  wide-eyed,  staring  uncom- 
fortably at  the  interesting  couple  who  sat  rather 
near  together  on  the  sofa.  She  damped  the 
atmosphere  so  completely  that  Staniforth  rose  to 
go  an  hour  before  his  intention,  and  once  more 
Eve  lamented  the  fate  that  had  sent  a  half- 
fledged  girl  into  her  house.  She  could  say 


THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN         81 

nothing,  of  course,  and  the  burden  must  be 
borne,  but  she  resolved  to  let  Captain  Riplingham 
enjoy  the  mawkish  taste  of  his  bread  and  butter 
just  as  much  as  he  liked. 


CHAPTER    X 

WITH  but  little  contrivance  people  can  meet  very 
often  in  an  Indian  station.  There  is  the  early 
morning  ride,  when  any  girl  may  be  free  from 
a  chaperon  ;  there  is  the  afternoon  tennis  at 
the  Gymkhana,  or  the  garden  party,  where  with- 
out reproach  a  man  may  convey  tea  and  ices 
to  little  tables  discreetly  set  apart  under  the 
trees.  There  are  the  weekly  dances  and  the 
innumerable  dinner-parties  at  which  a  kindly 
hostess  may  send  the  right  couples  in  together. 
And  these  are  only  the  casual,  uncontrived 
opportunities.  Eve  and  Captain  Staniforth  were 
ingenious  enough  to  discover  other  methods  of 
passing  the  hours  together,  and  presently  they 
found  that  the  existence  of  Celia,  when  palliated 
by  the  co-existence  of  Riplingham,  was  actually 
in  their  favour. 

The  two  men  arranged  a  day  on  the  river. 
In  the  divine  freshness  of  a  cold-weather  morn- 
ing they  ploughed  across  the  sands  to  where 
the  river  flowed  in  its  shrunken  channel.  The 
boat  was  of  barge-like  construction  with  a  roof 
of  thatch,  stretched  awning-wise  to  fend  the  rays 


THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN          83 

of  the  sun.  Celia  stepped  cautiously  up  the 
rickety  plank  which  served  as  gangway.  Then 
she  exclaimed  with  joy,  for  the  deck  was 
carpeted  and  lounge  chairs  invited  to  restful 
ease.  At  one  end  the  shikari  opened  gun-cases 
and  arranged  cartridges  ;  in  the  well-like  spaces 
fore  and  aft  of  the  deck  the  boatmen  baled  with 
fine  tortoise  shells.  From  the  top  of  the  mast  a 
spider  web  of  ropes,  each  with  a  human  fly 
clinging  to  it  on  the  bank,  resolved  itself 
into  tow-lines,  and  the  clumsy  barge  began  to 
move  up-stream,  while  the  little  brown  flies 
clambered  along  the  uneven  river  bank. 

Eve  and  Celia  lay  back  in  their  deck-chairs, 
each  perfectly  happy  in  her  own  way.  Although 
her  lack  of  introspection  kept  her  from  realising 
it  Eve  was  curiously  swayed  by  her  environment. 
The  slow,  gliding  motion  ;  the  monotonous 
outlook  of  blue  sky,  dun  banks,  and  yellow 
crops  ;  the  unspoken  knowledge  that  for  a  long 
day  she  was  free  from  restraint  of  mind  and 
body— all  induced  in  her  a  calmness  of  enjoy- 
ment, allayed  the  inward  restlessness  that  was 
apt  to  spoil  her  life. 

Celia  at  her  side  was  radiant.  For  a  long 
day  Riplingham  was  hers  without  the  dread  of 
beckoning  married  women  to  interrupt  her 
enjoyment.  She  had  not  yet  reached  that  stage 
when  the  mere  presence  of  others  was  irksome  ; 
she  did  not  yet  crave  to  be  alone  with  the  man 
she  had  decided  to  love.  The  stages  of  a  girl's 


84         THE   UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN 

incipient  love  affair  are  easily  traced.  First,  she 
wonders  lightly  if  he  will  be  present  at  the 
dinner  or  the  dance  she  goes  to  that  night. 
While  she  is  even  yet  shaking  hands  with  her 
hostess,  her  ingenuous  eye  wanders  round  the 
room  seeking  for  the  face  which  has  begun  to 
interest  her.  His  presence,  though  it  be  re- 
moved by  irritating  banks  of  flowers,  renders 
a  dull  dinner  bright,  and  the  few  commonplace 
words  exchanged  in  the  hearing  of  half  a  dozen 
other  women  redeem  the  conversational  desert 
with  the  glimpse  of  an  oasis.  Presently  the 
world  is  lost  if  she  cannot  sit  beside  him  half 
the  evening.  Any  one  may  listen  to  what  they 
say  to  one  another  ;  but  she  must  be  within 
reach  of  his  eye  and  voice.  Then  he  kisses 
her  ;  and  while  he  knows  he  has  gone  too  far 
and  repents  him  of  sudden  madness,  she 
wonders  when  he  is  going  to  kiss  her  again, 
and  craves  for  the  necessary  solitude  which 
seems  so  long  in  coming,  Now  at  last  the 
presence  of  men  and  women  irk  her*  No  longer 
joy  enough  to  catch  sight  of  him  across  a  tennis- 
court  ;  it  is  positive  pain  to  watch  him  irre- 
coverably caught  in  the  toils  of  another  woman's 
tea-party. 

A  girl  is  so  helpless  without  the  freedom,  the 
knowledge  of  a  married  woman  to  aid  her  in 
tracking  her  prey.  The  wise  girl  knows  this, 
and  if  her  mother  prove  useless  she  will  attach 
herself  to  the  nearest  married  woman  who 


THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN          85 

possesses  a  kindly  heart  and  the  desire  to  give 
select  tea-parties. 

Celia's  untouched  lips  did  not,  as  yet,  long  for 
kisses,  her  untouched  mind  did  not  realise 
the  charm  of  solitude  companioned  by  the  one 
man.  So  she  sat  in  the  boat  smiling  in- 
discriminately at  Eve  and  the  two  men  and  the 
half -naked  chocolate -hued  beings  who  swarmed 
round  the  clumsy  tiller. 

The  towed  barge  towed  in  its  turn  a  duck 
punt  in  which  a  squatted  cook  balanced  a 
brazier.  Over  the  little  pan  of  charcoal  which 
served  him  as  oven  he  cooked  a  wonderful 
meal,  and  a  khitmatgar  swarming  up  the  bulging 
stern  produced  a  camp  table  and  a  tiffin  basket 
which  held  the  luxurious  necessities  of  an  Indian 
picnic. 

Thus  they  feasted  as  they  slid  between  the 
Ganges  sandbanks,  laced  with  the  skulls  and 
bones  of  Hindu  burnings,  while  here  and  there 
a  shadow  of  darker  dun  upon  the  dun  bank 
showed  a  basking  crocodile  that  called  for  slay- 
ing. The  shikari,  scornful  of  their  slackness, 
continually  pointed  an  eager  finger  at  the 
ominous  shadows  and  disturbed  the  meal  by 
offering  a  loaded  rifle.  The  shooting  was  good, 
and  when  finally  a  wedge-shaped  flight  of  dark 
bodies  against  a  glowing  blue  sky  aroused  ex- 
citement in  the  hungriest,  Celia  felt  a  love  for 
sport  must  be  added  to  her  new  experiences. 

Her    childish    enthusiasm    waxed    with    the 


86         THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN 

waning  light.  In  the  distance  they  could  already 
descry  the  shining  minarets  and  domes  of  the 
mosque  which  marked  their  landing  ghat.  The 
sapphire  sky  had  turned  opal,  and  the  blue  calm- 
ness of  the  untroubled  river  was  tinged  with 
answering  streaks  of  fire  and  gold.  The  brown 
men  on  the  bank  were  seen  like  mediseval  saints 
bathed  in  translucent  gold,  haloed,  sacrosanct, 
though  stumbling  yet  through  their  strange  task 
of  pulling  a  golden  boat  on  a  tide  of  fiery  glass. 

"  I  wish  the  day  would  never  end,"  breathed 
Celia.  "Isn't  it  just  like  Revelations?  The 
curate  used  to  read  that  chapter  about  the  city 
so  beautifully,  and  when  I  was  a  child  I  used 
to  long  to  get  away  from  Fendyke  and  live  in 
a  place  where  the  streets  were  pure  gold,  and 
the  gates  were  jewels,  and  the  river— you  "know, 
it  must  look  just  like  this.  I  always  thought 
Revelations  much  the  pleasantest  book  in  the 
Bible  to  live  in." 

"•  I  once  read  the  Song  of  Solomon  printed 
separately  as  a  love  poem,  and  I  was  tremend- 
ously astonished  to  find  anything  so  interestingly 
improper  could  come  out  of  the  Bible,"  said 
Staniforth. 

Celia  looked  shocked. 

"Of  course  it  isn't  a  love  song,"  she  said 
a  little  primly.  "  We  are  taught  that  it  is  a 
figure  of  Christ's  love  for  the  Church." 

The  three  laughed  at  her  changed  mood  and 
the  expression  that  recalled  her  earlier  phase. 


THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN          87 

"  Read  it  as  a  love  song  and  you'll  find  it 
a  far  more  interesting  book  to  live  in,  as  you 
call  it,  than  Revelations.  Gold  and  pearls  and 
jewels  are  frightfully  hard  and  cold,  but  the 
Song  of  Solomon  is  full  of  flowers  and  kisses 
and  pomegranates  ;  it  might  have  been  written 
by  a  forerunner  of  Rossetti." 

Staniforth's  last  words  were  directed  towards 
Eve,  but  Celia  drank  them  in  eagerly  and  stored 
them  for  future  reference.  Something  in  her 
eager  face  and  in  Riplingham's  suddenly  kindled 
glance  made  Eve  change  the  subject. 

'*  I  hope  the  carriage  will  meet  us  at  the  ghat 
all  right  ;  the  bearer  has  fever  and  the 
chaprassi  I  gave  the  order  to  is  the  most  hope- 
less idiot.  It  would  be  awkward  to  be  stranded 
at  this  time  of  the  evening." 

"•  You  won't  be  stranded,"  said  Staniforth  con- 
fidently. "  My  trap  will  be  there,  that  takes 
two,  and  we  can  easily  get  a  ticca  out  of  the 
bazar  ;  it's  just  on  the  ghat." 

As  the  darkness  came  on  the  swift  chill  of  the 
Indian  winter  night  enfolded  them.  Riplingham 
bent  to  cover  Celia  with  his  rug.  He  looked 
down  into  her  blue  eyes,  at  the  half-open  red 
mouth  that  suddenly  allured  to  kisses.  And  she, 
looking  up  into  his  face,  caught  a  glance  that 
she  did  not  fully  understand,  though  it  sent 
little  quivers  of  pleasure  through  the  blood  in 
her  veins. 

14 1    believe,"    she    thought    delightedly — "  I 


88          THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN 

believe  he  wants  to  kiss  me.  What  fun  !  "  And 
suddenly  Eve  and  Staniforth  were  terribly  in 
the  way,  and  she  fell  to  dreaming  of  what  it 
would  feel  like  if  they  two  were  on  the  boat 
alone  together  and  his  arms  were  round  her 
waist  and  her  head  on  the  rougli  tweed  of  his 
shooting  coat.  The  warm  colour  flooded  up 
into  her  face,  and  in  another  moment  the  quivers 
had  concentrated  into  a  veritable  electric  shock, 
for  under  cover  of  the  sheltering  rug  Riplingham's 
prying  fingers  had  sought  and  found  her  little 
cold  hand  and  were  fondling  it  as  if  it  were 
never  to  be  let  go  again. 

It  was  at  this  moment  of  unimaginable  bliss 
that  the  barge  slid  heavily  alongside  the  landing- 
steps,  and  the  voyage  was  over.  Celia  rose  in 
a  dream.  Love  was  even  nicer  than  she  ex- 
pected. If  it  gave  one  such  pleasant  sensations 
to  have  one's  hand  held,  what  must  it  be  like  to 
be  kissed?  She  looked  up  into  Riplingham's 
eyes  as  he  helped  her  down  the  plank,  and  her 
innocent  gaze  of  surrender  seemed  to  give  him 
all  he  could  ask— and  more.  He  was  on  fire 
now,  and  unconsciously  her  looks,  words,  actions 
fed  the  flame. 

Eve's  forebodings  about  the  carriage  were  ful- 
filled. On  the  dusty  grass  of  the  river  bank 
only  one  ghostly  horse  strayed  the  length  of 
his  tether,  only  one  small  trap  loomed  through 
the  misty  darkness.  Staniforth's  groom,  indeed, 
was  full  of  information.  The  mem-sahib's  coach- 


THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN          89 

man  had  met  him  in  the  bazar  and  given  much 
abuse  when  told  that  the  order  was  for  the 
city  ghat.  He  had  taken  the  mem -sahib's 
carriage  many  miles  away  to  the  black  regi- 
ment's ghat,  saying  that  such  was  the  order 
he  had  received. 

Staniforth  swiftly  reviewed  the  situation.  "  It 
would  take  hours  to  fetch  your  phaeton  "from 
there.  You  must  drive  Miss  Ferriby  home  in 
the  turn -turn,  and  Riplingham  and  I  will  get  a 
ticca  in  the  bazar." 

Eve  shook  her  head. 

"I'm  not  going  to  drive  Daredevil  through 
the  city  at  night,"  she  said.  "  Celia  and  I  will 
go  in  the  ticca,  or  Captain  Staniforth  can  drive 
me,  and  Captain  Riplingham  can  go  in  the  ticca 
with  Celia." 

'•'  Certainly,"  said  Staniforth  with  alacrity  ; 
"  there's  no  reason  why  both  the  ladies  should 
be  uncomfortable,  and  a  ticca  from  this  far 
corner  of  the  city  is  sure  to  be  a  terror." 

While  they  waited  for  the  return  of  the  syce, 
dispatched  for  a  hired  carriage,  they  perched 
in  a  row  on  the  plinth  of  a  little  Mohammedan 
tomb  rising  ghostly  from  the  maidan.  There 
was  not  much  room  for  four,  and  once  more  under 
a  shared  rug  Riplingham's  hand  sought  and 
found  Celia's.  She  had  put  on  her  gloves  for 
warmth's  sake,  but  his  groping  fingers  undid 
the  clasps  and  drew  the  glove  gently  away.  Her 
heart  beat  up  into  her  throat,  and  she  was  glad 


90         THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN 

of  the  misty  dark  which  hid  her  glowing  cheeks 
as  her  hand  crept  inside  his  eager  palm. 

She  did  not  attempt  to  take  it  away,  and  did 
not  disguise  her  pleasure  at  his  touch.  To  him, 
even,  the  old  game  "had  a  fresh  savour  ;  he  had 
never  played  it  with  untouched  youth  before — 
how  untouched  the  youth  he  little  understood, 
but  its  freshness  charmed  him.  He  kept  up  a 
light  conversation  with  the  other  two  and  covered 
Celia's  blissful  silence. 

Then  two  gleaming  eyes  heralded  the  lumber- 
ing vehicle.  A  ticca  is  very  much  like  a 
bathing  van,  and  it  moves  with  an  equal  ease 
and  grace.  Two  rat-like  ponies  tied  to  doubtful 
shafts  with  al  maze  of  string  amble  along  in 
imperfect  accord.  Instead  of  windows  woo'den 
slatted  shutters  are  intended  to  slide  up  and 
down,  but  they  are  always  broken,  just  as  the 
ponies  are  always  lame. 

The  syce  quickly  harnessed  Staniforth's  pony, 
and  Eve  got  into  the  turn-turn. 

''We'd  better  get  off  first,  so  that  we  shan't 
have  to  pass  you  in  the  bazar,"  she  said. 
"  You'll  be  all  right  with  Capta'in  Riplingham, 
Celia."  But  a  sudden  thought  shot  across  her 
calmness  as  the  pony  turned  on  to  the  road. 
"  I  am  a'  bad  chaperon,"  she  said  uneasily.  "  I 
really  oughtn't  to  have  left  Celia  alone  like  that." 

"  Oh,  she's  all  right,"  he  comforted  her. 
"  You  can't  make  love  in  a  ticca.  Fancy  yell- 
ing sweet  nothings  above  the  bang  and  rattle 


THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN          91 

of  the  wheels.  Riplingham  will  ask  if  he  may 
smoke,  and  your  cousin  will  sleep  peacefully  in 
a  corner,  and  in  the  meantime  I've  got  you  all 
to  myself  at  last.  I  owe  your  coachman  some- 
thing for  that.  Do  you  realise  I've  not  been 
alone  with  you  for  two  whole  days?  " 

So  Eve's  conscience  slumbered  again,  arid  she 
did  not  interfere  when  the  pony  was  induced 
to  take  the  longer  road  home. 

Meantime,  Celia  clambered  into  the  black 
interior  of  the  ticca  and  settled  into  her  corner 
with  a  joyous  prevision  of  what  should  come 
of  this  dark  solitude.  In  a  moment  her  com- 
panion's form  blocked  the  oblong  of  the  door 
and  window,  then  he  was  at  her  side  and  the 
van-like  vehicle  clattered  forward,  urged  by  the 
shouting  individual  who  drove  the  ponies. 

For  a  moment  neither  moved.  Riplingham, 
with  a  spasm  of  conscience,  sat  stiffly  in  his 
corner  that  he  might  escape  contact  with  her 
soft  warmth.  Celia  sat  motionless,  waiting,  but 
when  he  came  no  nearer  she  thought  he  must 
be  afraid  of  her  anger,  and  to  encourage  him 
her  hand,  still  ungloved,  stole  out  and  caught 
at  his. 

He  had  not  often  denied  his  senses.  Now  it 
seemed  unkind  to  disappoint  hers.  He  flung 
her  hand  aside  and  gathered  her  up  into  his 
arms,  taking  his  fill  of  the  sweet  lips  that  were 
so  ready  for  him,  unkissed  as  yet,  hungry  with 
the  abstinence  of  an  unmothered  child's  lifetime. 


92          THE   UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN 

The  rector's  system  of  defeating  Nature  was 
avenged.  The  wooden  framework  of  the  ticca 
creaked  and  groaned,  inside  it  smelt  of  warm 
oil  and  musty  straw,  outside  the  ponies  bit  each 
other,  squealing.  A  more  hopeless  substitute  for 
a  golden  chariot  could  not  well  be  imagined, 
but  Celia's  heart  and  mind  and  senses  sang 
for  joy.  Throughout  the  long  dark  journey  the 
two  did  not  speak,  but  just  as  the  clatter 
slackened  with  the  ponies'  speed,  to  turn  into 
Eve's  compound,  and  he  put  her  from  him,  he 
bent  down  towards  her  ear. 

"  Are  you  happy,  darling?  "  he  asked.  The 
banal  words  just  reached  her  as  the  ticca  jerked 
to  a  stop  under  the  porch.  She  had  no  time 
to  answer,  even  if  she  had  known  what  words 
to  use,  poor  little  Celia,  eager  to  live  in  the 
Book  of  Revelation,  misunderstanding  the  pur- 
port of  the  Song  of  Solomon, 


CHAPTER    XI 

CELIA  woke  to  a  gay  consciousness  of  a  new 
channel  for  pleasure.  The  sensation  of  Ripling- 
ham's  kisses  came  back  with  a  little'  shudder  of 
delight  all  the  morning.  She  wondered  whether 
he  was  remembering  as  vividly  as  she,  and  if 
he  were  making  plans  for  a  renewal  of  last 
night's  delicious  solitude.  She  sat  in  a  long 
chair  in  the  veranda,  deep  in  idle  dreams.  Eve 
passed  to  and  fro,  interviewing  the  cook,  playing 
in  a  detached,  unmaternal  manner  with  her  small 
son  ;  writing  a  succession  of  notes,  busy  in 
her  cool,  unhurried,  uninterested  manner.  Morn- 
ings were  necessary  evils,  to  be  passed  with  as 
little  worry  as  possible,  stepping-stones  to  the 
afternoons  and  evenings  which  brought  a  cessa- 
tion of  dullness. 

In  spite  of  her  apparent  lack  of  interest,  Eve 
was  too  clever  a  woman  to  be  a  bad  house;- 
keeper  ;  she  was  too  sensitive  to  beauty  and 
order  to  leave  her  rooms  to  the  untended 
mercies  of  the  gardener  and  indoor  servants. 
Generally  Celia  helped  her  to  arrange  the  flowers, 
but  to-day  she  rolled  her  rumpled  head  among 
the  cushions  and  her  blue  eyes  saw  nothing  but 


94          THE   UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN 

visions  of  last  night's  episode.  The  memory 
of  it  was  even  pleasanter  than  the  actual  moment 
had  been.  For  one  thing,  memory  lasted  longer 
and  there  was  no  fear  of  detection  for  her  brain 
puppets,  moving  in  their  languorous  dream. 

She  could  spend  a  whole  morning  playing  out 
last  night's  drama,  inventing  passionate  utter- 
ance for  Riplingham,  passionate  surrender  for 
herself  while  her  body  lay,  apparently,  idle,  on 
the  busy  veranda. 

Even  James  obtained  no  favour  of  notice  at 
her  hands . 

James  had  belonged  to  Staniforth,  who  had 
given  him  to  Eve,  but  her  aloofness  left  him 
ever  dissatisfied,  and  it  had  been  Celia  who  had 
opened  the  doors  of  a  dog's  paradise  to  him. 
James  called  himself  a  fox-terrier  with  a  cross 
of  bull  ;  no  other,  dog  believed  in  his  preten- 
sions, but  his  powerful  shoulders  and  jaws  com- 
pelled outward  respect  even  for  a  dog  who 
was  not  always  sent  to  the  hills  in  the  hot 
weather,  a  sure  test  of  human  belief  in  English 
breeding. 

James  was  a  dog  with  a  temperament.  He 
had  a  smile  as  of  a  London  gamin,  and  was 
of  an  incurable  optimism.  He  believed  he  could 
catch  squirrels,  and  the  squirrels  believed  it  too, 
and  fled  from  him,  chattering  angrily  while  he 
leaped  with  open,  frenzied  jaws  about  the  trunk 
of  the  wrong  tree. 

James  loved  Celia.     She  understood  that  dogs 


THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN         95 

are  very  lonely  unless  human  beings  will  talk 
to  them.  It  would  never  have  entered  Eve's 
head  that  an  animal  could  be  lonely,  but  Celia 
had  spent  so  many  uncompanioned  days  that 
her  heart  went  out  to  the  square-built  fox-terrier 
that  begged  so  earnestly  to  be  taken  for  walks 
and  was  a  thorough  gentleman  at  meals,  when 
he  lay  by  her  chair,  blunt  head  on  outstretched 
paws,  only  his  bright  eyes  to  witness  that  he 
watched  her  plate  and  had  hopes. 

James  watched  her  now,  although  there  was 
no  food  to  be  seen,  and  he  sat  up,  alert  for  the 
moment  when  she  would  jump  from  her  chair 
and  take  him  for  an  enthralling  scamper  in  the 
compound.  Sometimes  he  put  out  a  tentative 
paw  and  prodded  her  gently  ;  but  there  was 
no  room  for  dogs  on  Celia's  narrow  horizon 
this  morning,  so  he  sighed  himself  to  sleep  at 
last  and  dreamed  of  rats. 

Thus  Celia  failed  her  cousin  and  her  dog 
because  Riplingham  had  kissed  her  and  she  had 
attained  the  first  step  of  her  ambition.  She 
would  have  been  hurt  and  astonished  could  she 
have  realised  the  man's  condition  of  mind.  For 
last  night's  lover  went  about  his  work  without 
a  thought  of  either  repentance  or  exultation.  He 
never  remembered  Celia  at  all  until,  parade 
over,  orderly-room  over,  and  breakfast  eaten,  he 
lounged  in  the  mess  and  talked  of  the  afternoon's 
polo. 

Then    with    a    half    smile    he    savoured    the 


96          THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN 

memory  of  last  night's  childish  abandonment, 
and  wondered  that  unripe  crudity  could  yet 
be  so  sweet.  But  he  decided  to  "  go  slow/' 
for  she  seemed  so  generous— too  generous,,  in 
fact,  for  one  who  despised  school-girl  gifts. 

His  resolution  outlasted  the  day,  and  Celia's 
joy  wore  a  little  thin  when  his  return  from  polo 
took  him  only  as  far  as  Mrs.  Cunningham's 
tea-party  on  the  Club  veranda.  The  travelling 
companions  had  scarcely  spoken  to  each  other 
since  their  day  in  the  train  together,  but  Celia 
sent  a  tremulous  little  smile  across  the  tables 
with  a  faint  hope  that  she  might  be  invited  to 
join  the  party  that  included  Riplingham. 

Her  smile  was  wasted  as  regards  an  invita- 
tion, for  Mrs.  Cunningham  detested  girls  and  all 
their  works.  But  it  had  an  effect  in  another 
direction  ;  for  the  woman's  keen  eyes,  trained  by 
practice,  had  seen  Riplingham's  latest  interest, 
and  a  sudden  recollection  of  Celia's  conversation 
in  the  train  gave  her  an  unexpected  sympathy 
with  youthful  ignorance.  Perhaps  a  memory  of 
her  own  daughter  at  school  in  England  and  an 
ever-present  dread  to  a  heart  untrained  to 
maternal  cares,  perhaps  a  thought  of  the  future 
pricked  her  conscience.  At  any  rate,  she  bent 
her  neatly  tired  and  netted  head  towards  his 
crisped  curls  and  made  an  astonishing  mistake, 
for  she  warned  Riplingham  against  Celia. 

"  Give  it  up,  Cuthbert,"  she  said  in  a  low 
tone.  "  A  girl's  not  fair  game.  Married  women 


THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN          97 

are  the  only  legitimate  sourqe  of  amusement  for 
a  man  like  you  with  expensive  tastes  and  no 
money.  Girls  have  a  nasty  little  habit  of  expect- 
ing you  to  marry  them.  Then  in  a  twinkling 
you  receive  twins  and  have  to  advertise  your 
polo  ponies.  It  isn't  worth  it  ;  she  isn't  worth 
it  ;  why  she  isn't  even  pretty,  or  won't  be  when 
her  English  colour  has  gone.  And  you  know 
you're  quite  mistaken  in  her,  she  isn't  the  inno- 
cent baby  she  looks.  She  said  the  most 
appalling  things  to  me  coming  up  in  the  train — 
things  I  wouldn't  say  to  another  woman,  and 
you  know  I'm  not  too  Puritan." 

Riplingham's  admiration  of  blue  eyes  and 
apple -blossom  skin  received  a  sudden  jar,  and 
he  looked  swiftly  across  at  Celia,  who  sat  sulkily 
huddled  in  a  chair  while  Mr.  Macintyre  worked 
hard  to  get  her  to  run  a  conversation  on  the 
unforgotten  lines  of  her  first  dinner-party.  But 
Celia  had  progressed  since  then  and  had  read 
quite  a  number  of  novels  which  she  took  as 
guides  to  dialogue.  It  is  true  that  the  book 
club  happened  to  be  run  at  the  moment  by  the 
General's  wife,  who  exacted  what  she  called  "  a 
clean  moral  tone  "  from  each  book  she  put  into 
circulation,  so  that  Celia's  literary  guide  to  know- 
ledge of  manners  was  of  a  chastened  and 
domestic  kind.  Nevertheless  she  had  learnt  to 
talk  without  undue  attention  to  subjects  of  love 
and  passion,  and  as  she  refused  to  be  drawn 
by  Macintyre's  suggestions  for  conversation  he 
7 


98         THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN 

found  her  dull  and  she  wished  he  would  go 
away. 

Riplingham  caught  an  imploring  glance,  but 
he  hardened  his  heart  and  turned  back  to  his 
companion . 

"  What  sort  of  things  did  she  say,  Ethel?  " 
he  inquired  in  a  tone  that  tried  to  be  light. 

"  Quite  horrid  things  about  having  lovers- 
strings  of  them,  apparently." 

This  uncomfortable  rendering  of  Celia's  inno- 
cently absurd  aspirations  came  upon  Riplingham 
with  a  genuine  shock.  He  recalled  her  trustful 
face  and  the  confiding  hand  that  crept  into  his, 
and  he  revolted  against  the  elder  woman's 
judgment . 

"She  can't  have  meant  it,  she  didn't  know 
what  she  was  saying,"  he  said  uneasily. 

"  Perhaps  not,  but  she  said  it,  and  she's  said 
that  sort  of  thing  to  other  people.  Ask  Mr. 
Macintyre.  Now,  Cuthbert,  I'm  not  saying  this 
out  of  spite  or  jealousy  or  any  feminine  cattish- 
ness.  I'm  not  jealous  ;  you've  never  made  love 
to  me  in  your  life  (I  wonder  why),  and  if  she 
wins  you  I  lose  nothing.  But  I'm  sorry  for 
both  of  you  if  you  get  entangled.  Let  the  girl 
have  a  fair  chance.  I  believe  she  is  learning 
common-sense  and  settling  down  to  ordinary  sub- 
jects of  conversation,  so  she  may  have  taken 
you  in  ;  but  she  can't  be  so  overpoweringly 
innocent  to  talk  to  me  as  she  did,  and  you  may 
find  yourself  in  a  hole." 


THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN          99 

"  Why  doesn't  some  one  tell  Mrs.  Lang?  " 

"  Tell  her  what?  That  her  cousin  talked  on 
improper  subjects  when  she  first  came  out?  I 
can't  imagine  any  one  telling  Eve  Lang  that. 
Besides,  I  thought  Miss  Ferriby  would  treat  her 
to  some  of  her  gems  of  thought  in  time,  and  I 
didn't  want  to  interfere."  Mrs.  Cunningham 
forgot  that  she  had  impressed  Celia  with  the 
necessity  of  silence  towards  Eve  on  the  subjects 
that  had  been  their  topic.  She  did  not  know 
Celia's  overpowering  anxiety  to  be  a  success  in 
her  new  life  and  her  eager  reception  of  advice 
concerning  her  cousin. 

Riplingham  looked  gloomily  at  the  tea-cups. 
His  enjoyment  of  infantile  attractions  showed 
suddenly  more  explicable  from  this  new  stand- 
point. He  had  not,  then,  really  gone  back 
to  bread  and  butter  ;  Celia  had  but  used  a 
new  lure.  Her  childlike  gaze  masked  a  purpose 
in  a  brain  that  mocked  him  for  credulity.  To 
his  astonishment  he  found  himself  sad  with  an 
abounding  disappointment.  He  had  not  meant 
to  marry  Celia,  but  her  sweet  youthfulness  had 
attracted  him  beyond  any  expectation.  He  felt 
as  if  he  had  lost  something  very  precious,  a  new 
zest  which  had  chased  the  dullness  of  a  line  of 
days.  To  lose  her  like  this  was  hard  to  bear, 
and  he  felt  justly  aggrieved  with  the  pretty 
hypocrite. 

Then  a  more  evil  thought  struck  him,  a 
thought  which  was  the  lawful  offspring  of  former 


100        THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN 

dealings  in  so-called  love.  If  Celia  were  that 
sort  of  girl,  he  need  not  deny  himself  his  desire 
of  kisses.  She  knew  what  she  was  about,  could 
take  care  of  herself  as  well  as  any  of  the  married 
women  in  the  station.  He  might  have  quite  a 
good  time  after  all.  His  depressed  spirits 
rose  a  little,  but  his  sense  of  loss  was  still 
keen. 

He  believed  Ethel  completely  ;  she  had  a  pre- 
cise manner  of  thought  which  matched  her  hair 
and  dress  and  had  no  leanings  towards  feminine 
exaggeration.  Then  he  had  a  lightning  flash 
of  recollection  in  which  he  heard  Macintyre  des- 
cribing a  dinner-party  weeks  ago  and  the  curious 
Conversation  of  his  dinner  companion.  The 
subject  had  been  completely  dropped  from  his 
mind,  and  he  had  never  connected  it  with  Celiau. 
Now  he  remembered  and  was  quite  sure. 

Thus  on  Celia's  idle  words  and  the  rector's 
laborious  system  of  education,  and  not  on  the 
scapegoat  heredity,  rests  the  blame  of  the  child's 
first  propulsion  towards  evil. 

Mrs.  Cunningham  had  intended  to  be  kind. 
In  spite  of  herself  Celia  had  stirred  her  cold- 
ness a  little,  and  she  did  not  want  the  girl  to 
meet  with  a  stumbling-block  at  the  very  outset  of 
her  life .  Celia  had  asked  humbly  for  advice,  and 
had  received  it.  Now  the  man  who  showed 
signs  of  playing  with  her  had  received  advice 
also,  advice  given  in  a  spirit  of  straight  friendli- 
ness. Ethel  Cunningham  wanted  to  do  her  best 


THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN        101 

for  both*  Riplingham's  pursuit  of  Gelid,  was  to 
be  discouraged,  so  she  chose  the  wise  method 
of  showing  him  that  he  had  mistaken  his  quarry. 
She  did  not  understand  that  his  added  knowledge 
did  but  salve  a  conscience  that  might  soon  have 
smarted.  Riplingham  had  lost  his  idea  of  Celia, 
but  after  all  he  was  more  impressed  by  flesh 
than  spirit,  and  the  child's  apple-blossom  tints 
had  not  faded  with  her  innocency. 

Nevertheless  he  did  not  speak  to  her  that 
evening^  he  must  give  decent  burial  to  a  dead 
idea. 

Celia  went  home  with  hatred  for  all  married 
women  consuming  her  heart.  She  was  angry 
with  Mrs.  Cunningham  for  spoiling  her  after- 
noon, realising  but  small  part  of  her  loss. 

Half-way  towards  home  Riplingham  checked 
his  pony  with  a  sudden  doubt.  Surely  he  had 
believed  too  quickly.  Ought  he  to  have 
believed  a  woman's  gossip  at  all?  He  had  a 
wild  desire  to  turn  back  and  find  Celia,  but 
common-sense  told  him  she  would  have  left  the 
Club.  He  could  not  even  drop  in  at  Eve's 
bungalow  after  mess,  as  he  sometimes  did  when 
he  knew  she  had  no  party,  for  it  was  guest 
night  and  he  had  invited  a  couple  of  men. 
Besides,  one  could  not  question  a  girl  concerning 
such  accusations  as  Mrs.  Cunningham  had  made. 

He  must  watch  carefully,  learn  for  himself 
whether  Celia's  childlike  gaze  masked  something 
less  pure.  It  would  be  perfectly  easy  to  find 


102        THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN 

out  the  truth  now  that  Ethel  had  put  him  on 
the  right  track. 

Riplingham  dismissed  the  matter  from  his 
thoughts,  but  a  vague  sense  of  loss  remained 
with  him  throughout  the  evening. 


CHAPTER    XII 

To  a  suspicious  eye,  sharpened  by  a  fatal  readi- 
ness to  believe  the  worst,  Celia's  behaviour 
seemed  to  point  towards  ill.  She  literally  threw 
herself  at  Riplingham's  head,  and  her  tactics 
appeared  the  worse  because  she  was  careful  to 
appear  nonchalant  and  indifferent  in  Eve's 
presence.  She  clung  to  Mrs.  Cunningham's 
words  of  advice,  and  as  she  believed  her  cousin 
capable  of  sending  her  back  to  Fendyke  if  she 
incurred  even  a  momentary  displeasure,  she 
strove  to  mould  herself  into  a  faithful  copy  of 
her  cousin's  detached  manner. 

But  while  she  intended  to  please  Eve,  she 
also  intended  to  be  loved  passionately,  the  lurid 
language  of  the  *'  Kitchen  Myosotis  "  being  more 
to  her  taste  than  the  domesticated  banalities  of 
Mrs.  Limousin's  book-club  heroines.  iWhere- 
fore  she  displayed  marvellous  ingenuity  in 
arranging  meetings  that  gave  solitude  and  an 
opportunity  for  kisses. 

Ethel  Cunningham  saw  that  for  some  reason 
her  advice  had  gone  astray,  and  she  broached 
the  subject  again  as  she  rode  with  Riplingham 
one  morning  across  the  river  fields. 

103 


104        THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN 

"  I  suppose  that  soon  my  Thursdays  will  be 
Miss  Ferriby's  Thursdays,**  she  began.  M  I  hear 
she  can  ride  quite  well  now,  and  has  been  seen 
Careering  on  the  racecourse,  so  I  expect  she 
will  soon  be  promoted  to  your  morning  Cross- 
country rides." 

"She  rides  all  right,"  said  Riplingham. 
"  Shall  we  gallop  across  this  bit?  " 

"  No  ;  there's  a  melon  patch,  and  I  dislike 
galloping  hi  and  out  of  pits  and  getting  my 
hair  untidy.  Besides,  I  want  to  talk.  Don't  be 
sulky,  Cuthbert.  I  really  am  interested,  and  you 
know  we're  friends  ;  and  if  you  want  me  to 
I'll  give  up  these  Thursday  rides  without  a 
sigh." 

A  mechanically  reproachful  smile,  trSvesty  of 
earlier  days,  bent  his  lips  as  he  turned  towards 
his  companion. 

"  If  you  desert  me,  dear  lady,  I  swear  I'll 
ride  alone." 

"Doesn't  Miss  Ferriby  like  getting  up  early?  " 
Ethel's  mischievous  tone  rasped  his  nerves. 

"  I  haven't  asked  her,"  he  said  mendaciously, 
with  an  uneasy  memory  of  Celia's  aspirations 
after  early  morning  rides  on  regimental  holidays. 

"  tWell,  you  will  soon,  as  you  haven't  taken 
my  advice.  Did  you  find  out  I  was  mistaken? 
I've  been  sorry  ever  since  that  I  took  her 
character  away  all  to  no  purpose.  I  might  just 
as  well  have  kept  my  reputation  for  being  down 
on  scandalmongers.  As  it  is,  I've  not  helped 


THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN        105 

you,  tad  I'm  properly  ashamed  of  myself  for 
defamiig  a  child  like  that."  A  veritable  blush 
rose  on  Mrs.  Cunningham's  pale  cheek.  Rip- 
lingham  looked  away.  Ethel  seemed  to  be 
taking  his  attitude  towards  Celia  too  much  to 
heart.  Anyhow,  he  could  not  betray  that  her 
scandal  had  apparently  borne  the  demerit  of 
truth. 

"  I  haven't  so  very  much  time  to  progress 
farther  in  Miss  Ferriby's  good  graces,"  he  said. 
"  I  take  eight  months'  leave  in  July." 

"  We  women  are  rather  lucky  in  India,"  said 
Ethel  reflectively.  "  The  men  who  admire  us 
haven't  time  to  get  tired  ;  they  go  home  on 
leave  or  get  transferred  before  they  come  to 
the  end  of  us— not  a  long  journey  in  India,  by 
the  way.  You  Can  forgive  a  man  forgetting 
you  when  he  is  transferred  out  of  ten  days' 
leave  limits,  especially  when  you've  forgotten  him 
yourself,  but  it  is  horrid  to  watch  him  grow 
tired  and  see  another  woman  gently  annexing 
him." 

Riplingham  hardly  heard  her  mild  cynicism. 
He  had  again  and  again  caught  himself  wishing 
that  Ethel  had  never  mentioned  Celia  ;  he  felt 
he  would  rather  be  deceived  than  disappointed, 
but  the  harm  was  done. 

*'  I  wonder  why  all  Anglo -Indian  women  get 
hard  and  flippant,"  he  said  suddenly. 

41  Do  you  think  we  are?  I  think  it  is  chiefly 
manner.  We  have  so  much  time  to  talk  in 


106        THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN 

India,  and  when  a  woman  has  too  much  time 
to  talk  she  always  takes  herself  as  a  subject. 
Also  Anglo -India  prides  itself  on  being  smart. 
Mrs.  Hauksbee  is  answerable  for  a  lot,  vou  know. 
In  their  frantic  efforts  to  be  like  her,  women 
talk,  smartly  as  they  fondly  believe— really  flip- 
pantly, unsympathetically." 

"  I  know,"  he  nodded.  "  To  arouse  real  sym- 
pathy you  must  start  enteric  or  smallpox,  and 
your  worst  traducer  will  nurse  you  cheerfully. 
Or  lose  all  your  money,  and  your  favourite  enemy 
will  buy  in  your  furniture  at  enhanced  prices  and 
pay  your  club  bill  with  admirable  tact." 

.While  he  fell  in  with  Ethel's  mood,  and  talked 
in  her  light  strain,  he  was  yet  comparing  her 
mind  with  Celia's.  In  a  few  minutes  he  had 
a  further  chance  of  comparison,  for  Celia  rode 
towards  them  with  Macintyre,  who  drew  rein 
to  speak  for  a  minute  with  Mrs.  Cunningham. 

"  So  you  are  riding  with  Macintyre,"  said 
Cuthbert,  looking  with  displeased  eyes  at  her 
pretty  disarray. 

"  Yes,  you  always  ride  with  her  on  Thursdays, 
and  he  asked  me  to  come." 

'*  If  I  asked  you,  would  you  come  with  me?  " 

"  Of  course  I  would."  Her  delight  was  so 
evident  that  it  salved  his  slight  displeasure. 
"  Will  you  take  me  next  Thursday?  " 

This  display  of  eagerness  cooled  him  a  little, 
but  he  assented  as  he  turned  to  obey  Ethel's 
"  I'm  ready,  Cuthbert." 


THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN        107 

The  younger  couple  rode  away  in  a  silence 
which  Celia,  of  course,  was  the  first  to  break. 

"  Why  is  she  so  fond  of  Christian  names?  " 
she  asked  resentfully. 

"She?  Who?  Oh,  Mrs.  Cunningham,  you 
mean.  She  has  known  Riplingham  for  years, 
been  in  the  same  stations  lots  of  times.  She 
is  quite  a  good  sort,  although  she  looks  starched 
and  says  beastly  things." 

"  I  wish  I  could  look  as  tidy  as  she  does  at 
the  end  of  a  long  ride." 

Macintyre  looked  at  her  judicially.  "  You  do 
get  rather  fuzzy,"  he  said,  "  but  never  mind, 
you  look  all  right."  All  the  same,  he  would  like 
to  have  changed  partners  and  ridden  with  Ethel, 
for  he  was  too  young  to  like  girls,  and  was 
always  flattered  by  a  belief  in  his  attraction  for 
married  women.  He  was  quite  pleased,  there- 
fore, when  on  dismounting  under  Eve's  porch 
she  refused  to  ride  with  him  next  Thursday. 

"  I'm  riding  with  Captain  Riplingham,"  she 
said  importantly,  "so  you'd  better  engage  Mrs. 
Cunningham  quick  before  any  one  else  gets  her." 
With  this  parting  shot  she  retired  to  dream  for 
a  week  of  her  coming  joy,  and  made  Denis  take 
her  out  every  morning  in  between  so  that  she 
might  impress  Riplingham  with  her  powers  of 
horsemanship. 

When  Thursday  came  they  rode  out  beyond 
cantonments  to  the  jungle  thickets  where  the 
plain  broke  away  to  gentle  undulations  that 


108        THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN 

caught  a  series  of  tiny  lakes  Into  their  embrace. 
On  either  side  of  the  winding1  path  babul-trees 
flung  the  filmy  green  of  their  tiny  leaves  and 
the  golden  balls  of  their  mimosa-like  blossom 
against  a  sky  of  gleaming  turquoise. 

One  seeks  instinctively  for  a  jewel  name  to 
fit  the  splendour  of  the  Indian  cold-weather 
sky,  yet  no  blue  jewel  is  so  transfused  with 
golden  light,  so  tenderly,  yet  divinely  magnifi- 
cent as  the  glowing  dome  which  will  soon  merge 
into  a  torture  of  bronze.  As  they  rode  onwards 
the  thriftless  beauty  of  the  babul-trees  gave  place 
to  patches  of  cultivation.  Near  the  lake  spears 
of  Indian  corn  shot  high,  swaying  their  mighty 
heads  of  clustered  grain. 

"  These  are  the  only  decent  crops  anywherfl 
round/'  said  Riplingham,  and  Celia  pouted 
because  solitude  brought  no  more  interesting 
avowal  from  his  lips. 

"  I  am  afraid  it  means  famine  this  year,"  he 
went  on  ;  "  the  rains  failed,  and  most  of  the 
ground  got  too  hard  to  sow  any  seed  for  the 
spring  harvest."  Now,  Celia  had  taken  her  cue 
from  Eve,  who  was  wont  to  vouchsafe  no  word 
but  a  faint  smile  to  any  observation  concern- 
ing crops  or  natives.  Denis  had  so  persistently 
assumed  these  things  to  be  outside  feminine 
cognisance,  and  what  the  head  of  the  house 
assumes  tacitly  is  often  accepted  as  a  treasured 
axiom.  Crops  and  natives,  then,  were  dull,  and 
Celia  felt  that  her  morning  ride  lacked  its 


THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN        109 

expected  interest.  Few  men  care  to  make  love 
before  breakfast,  and  Riplingham's  feeling  for 
Celia  was  certainly  not  of  the  kind  to  glow 
fervidly  during  an  early  morning  ride.  As  she 
seemed  to  expect  it,  however,  he  took  advantage 
of  the  sheltered  field  path  and  bent  towards  her 
cheek.  But  the  two  broad-brimmed  sun  helmets 
got  in  each  other's  way  in  an  irritating  fashion, 
and  when  he  lifted  his  eyes  he  became  aware  of 
a  scarlet-robed  Indian  woman  peering  at  them 
from  between  the  lofty  corn  stalks  with  an  air 
of  enthralled  interest. 

His  feeble  desire  for  Celia's  kisses  suffered 
a  severe  check  for  the  moment,  and  he  was  glad 
to  reach  a  patch  of  open  country  where  they 
could  gallop  without  danger.  At  once  her  facile 
emotions  changed  form.  The  joy  and  desire  of 
her  heart  centred  in  the  swift  rush  of  the  air, 
finding  supreme  bliss  in  headlong  flight  through 
a  golden  world .  When  they  checked  their  horses 
at  last,  Celia  was  a  little  girl  again,  unmindful 
of  kisses,  intent  only  on  the  joy  of  her  gallop. 

"  I  hope  we'll  be  able  to  ride  in  heaven," 
she  said  raptly. 

*  The  golden  streets  might  be  a  little  hard 
for  the  horses'  feet.  Are  you  so  very  keen  on 
heaven?  You  have  mentioned  it  several  times." 

"  Not  exactly  keen.,  I  often  think  it  sounds 
dull  ;  but  I've  always  heard  such  a  lot  about 
It— till  I  came  here,  of  course  ;  Eve  never 
mentions  it." 


110        THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN 

Another  curious  phase  in  the  girl's  character, 
thought  Riplingham.  She  plainly  believed  in  God 
and  heaven  and  hell  ;  was  "  good  "  and  yet  bad  ; 
no  hypocrite,  yet  of  irreconcilable  moods.  He 
himself  shrank  from  religious  beliefs  ;  they 
limited  a  man  so  sadly  and  choked  so  many 
channels  for  enjoyment,  but  they  were  useful 
in  the  case  of  a  woman,  for  they  tended  to  keep 
her  straight. 

"  We  must  start  earlier  next  week,"  broke  in 
Celia,  sure  in  her  childish  egoism  that  next 
Thursday  was  to  be  hers  too.  "It  is  getting 
very  hot." 

Riplingham's  carefully  nurtured  chivalry  was 
in  arms  at  once.  "  Have  I  taken  you  out  too 
far,  little  girl?  "  he  asked  anxiously.  "  Are  you 
feeling  the  sun?  I  am  a  thoughtless  idiot." 

"  It  is  rather  warm,"  sighed  Celia,  delighted 
to  have  roused  his  interest  at  last,  even  if  it 
meant  confessing  to  a  weariness  she  did  not  in 
the  least  feel.  He  was  really  worried  to  think 
he  had  failed  a  woman  in  the  every-day  care 
he  prided  himself  on  observing.  He  had  made 
love  to  Celia  without  a  qualm,  but  he  could 
never  forgive  himself  if  she  got  a  sun  headache 
through  his  f orgetfulness .  He  was,  in  fact, 
almost  feminine  in  his  weak  perception  of 
relative  values . 

Celia  talked  languidly  the  rest  of  the  way 
home  and  met  his  apologies  with  a  beautiful 
brave  smile  which  touched  him  far  more  than 


THE   UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN        111 

her  sentimental  glances  of  the  earlier  moments 
of  their  ride.  When  they  drew  rein  beneath  the 
porch  and  he  lifted  her  from  her  saddle,  his  arms 
tightened  quite  unnecessarily  round  her  yielding 
form. 

But  a  second  later  she  had  brought  back  his 
old  suspicions  again.  "  Next  week  we  won't 
go  so  far,"  he  murmured.  "  I  can't  have  my 
little  woman  coming  back  tired  out." 

"  We  could  always  dismount  half-way  and 
rest,"  she  suggested,  while  her  rising  colour 
reminded  him  of  the  difficulty  of  making  love 
on  horseback. 

For  the  moment  he  almost  disliked  her  because 
she  made  things  too  easy  for  him,  and  he  rod^e 
away  determined  to  have  important  work  on 
Thursday  morning.  Nevertheless  when  Mrs. 
Cunningham,  eager  to  forestall  his  excuses,  signi- 
fied her  intention  of  riding  with  Macintyre  on 
Thursday,  he  felt  a  distinct  relief  that  he  need 
not  undergo  her  gibes,  for  his  mind  had  veered 
again. 

He  rode  with  Celia,  and  she  was  so  much 
interested  in  the  gallop  that  preceded  their  slow 
walk  through  the  thickets  that  she  quite  forgot 
to  suggest  they  should  dismount.  Relieved  yet 
disappointed,  he  listened  to  her  gay  chatter  about 
Fendyke  and  India.  She  looked  almost  plain  in 
the  country-cut  habit  that  had  been  quickly  run 
up  for  her,  a  fact  which  probably  influenced  his 
mood  more  than  he  knew.  He  had  long  ago 


112         THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN 

decided  that  she  possessed  no  background,  no 
lights  and  shadows,  but  he  realised  that  while 
she  left  his  mind  cold  she  possessed  at  times  the 
strongest  attraction  for  his  senses.  He  did  not 
want  to  marry  her,  a  penniless,  'gauche  child, 
but  he  had  often  a  fierce  desire  to  make  love  to 
her,  and  he  seldom  denied  himself  anything. 

In  her  ignorance  she  did  not  find  it  strange 
that  a  man  should  play  the  lover  in  secret  without 
a  word  of  engagement  and  marriage.  She  had 
not  the  least  wish  to  marry  anybody  for 
years,  but  her  desire  to  be  loved  flamed  out 
and  met  his  passion  half-way. 


CHAPTER    XIII 

THE  cold  weather  drew  to  an  end.  Celia  had 
soon  learnt  to  dance,  helped  by  her  eagerness, 
her  light  foot,  and  her  love  for  music.  Even 
Macintyre  was  glad,  after  all,  to  help  to  fill  her 
card  at  the  weekly  dances,  while  Riplingham 
rejoiced  that  his  A.D.C.-ship  was  over,  and 
he  was  master  over  his  own  programme. 

But  with  the  coming  of  March  the  season's 
gaieties  waned.  A  hot,  dry  wind  seared  the 
garden  until  only  petunias  survived  to  lift  their 
hardy  blooms  along  the  water -channels.  The 
brain -fever  bird  sat  in  a  tree  outside  the  drawing- 
room  veranda  and  sang  its  fiendish  notes  up 
the  scale,  "  brain  fever,  brain  fever,  brain 
fever"  while  near  at  hand  the  coppersmith  bird 
frenzied  its  hearers  with  an  unceasing  call  of 
"  tonk,  tonk,"  as  of  a  hammer  on  brass. 

Eve  decided  to  hasten  her  annual  departure  to 
the  hills.  This  year  Denis  had  hired  a  furnished 
bungalow  to  save  them  from  the  six  months' 
discomfort  of  inferior  hotels.  He  himself  grew 
all  the  busier  as  the  hot  weather  drew  nigh,  and 
the  rumour  of  famine,  growing  more  insistent, 
left  no  hope  of  leave  for  months  to  come. 
8  113 


114        THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN 

Through  one  unbearable  day  and  night  they 
journeyed,  until  the  dawn  showed  the  foot-hills 
and  the  air  grew  fresher  every  moment.  The 
labouring  engine  crawled  its  last  foot  of  rails 
that  stopped  abruptly  beneath  the  towering 
mountain  barrier.  Then  came  the  wild  clatter  of 
a  tonga  drive  along  a  road  that  leaped  upwards 
in  marvellous  zigzags  until  its  courage,  too, 
seemed  to  fail  like  that  of  the  railway  lines. 
The  last  few  miles  were  traversed  at  an  excru- 
ciating jog-trot  in  coffin -like  litters,  and  even 
Celia's  exuberance  was  checked  when  a  final 
struggle  had  brought  them  to  their  eyrie  high 
above  the  lake. 

The  bungalow  was  chiefly  furnished  with 
decayed  basketwork  in  the  depressing  manner 
of  most  hill  cottages.  The  garden  was  a  mere 
shelf  from  which  the  khudside  fell  away  steeply. 
Across  the  valley  rose  a  corresponding  slope, 
its  green  flecked  by  half -hidden  bungalows. 
Caught  in  the  hollow  lay  the  lake  where  willows 
dipped  to  shelter  canoes  and  skiffs  and  the  boat- 
house  perched  to  serve  as  meeting-place  for  the 
dwellers  in  the  hills. 

The  two  men  who  meant  so  much  to  Eve 
and  Celia  were  both  able  to  come  up  with  detach- 
ments of  their  regiments,  so  that  life  in  the 
hills  went  on  very  much  as  it  had  done  in  the 
plains,  save  that  they  saw  more  of  each  other  out 
of  doors. 

But  Eve,   though  she   was   really   a  careless 


THE   UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN        115 

chaperon,  was  careful  to  give  no  apparent  cause 
for  scandal  even  to  the  greedy  mind  of  women 
like  Mrs.  Young. 

They  sat  together  in  Eve's  bedroom  one  morn- 
ing talking  over  the  events  of  the  cold  weather. 
Mrs.  Young  had  the  fatal  habit  of  "  running  in 
in  the  morning,"  a  weariful  custom  dear  to  some 
feminine  hearts.  She  had  looked  at  Eve's  new 
frocks  and  hats,  and  now,  having1  demanded 
cigarettes,  she  lay  full  length  on  the  bed  and 
asked  questions . 

"  Well,  how  do  you  get  on  with  your  charge? 
She's  distinctly  pretty.  Any.  signs  of  marrying 
her  off  yet?  Is  there  any  hope  of  Captain  Rip- 
lingham  succumbing  at  last?  " 

"  Not  the  least,"  said  Eve.  "  My  Cousin  is 
young  beyond  belief,  and  you  know  the  kind 
of  woman  that  appeals  to  him.  I  think,  as  a 
matter  of  fact,  that  he  found  life  a  little  plain 
and  dull  when  the  Lieutenant -Governor  resigned 
and  he  went  back  to  his  regiment,  and  Celia 
openly  admired  him  and  made  him  realise  he  is 
beautiful  even  without  his  A.D.C.'s  uniform. 
She  acts  like  a  soothing  cream  when  his  brother 
officers  chaff  him  for  his  royal  airs  and  that 
smile  of  his.  But  as  for  marrying— why,  she 
hasn't  a  penny,  and  he  likes  the  best  of  polo 
ponies.  He  goes  home  in  July,  and  I  fully 
expect  he  will  pick  up  an  heiress  then.  That 
smile  and  that  air  can't  go  unrewarded  for  ever." 

"  And  in  the  meantime  hasn't  Miss  Ferriby 


116        THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN 

any  admirers  except  the  one  useless  follower?  " 
She  flicked  her  cigarette  asli  on  to  the  floor 
and  rolled  over,  crumpling  Eve's  embroidered 
quilt  anew. 

"  I  don't  know  why  you  assume  that  I  am 
so  anxious  to  get  rid  of  my  cousin,"  said  Eve  a 
little  irritably  ;  "I  have  grown  fond  of  her  in 
the  months  she  has  stayed  with  us.  I  am  not 
at  all  keen  on  her  marrying  soon." 

"  A  girl  is  sometimes  useful,"  put  in  Mrs. 
Young  reflectively—"  a  kind  of  permanent 
chaperon  who  can  be  choked  and  blinded  when 
necessary." 

"  Don't,  Connie,  you  jar,"  said  Eve  in  such 
an  icy  tone  that  her  friend  sat  up  in  sudden 
astonishment. 

"My  dear  girl,"  she  protested.  "What  has 
happened  to  you  in  the  months  since  I  saw 
you  last?  You  haven't  got  converted  by  any 
chance,  or  surely  it  isn't  a  baby?  I've  known 
women  become  perfect  saints  while  they  were 
expecting  an  infant.  That's  one  of  the  reasons 
I've  always  shrunk  from  having  one." 

"  I  don't  think  you  need  dread  a  sudden  attack 
of  saintliness,"  said  Eve  with  a  faint  smile,  feel- 
ing already  ashamed  at  an  outburst  which  was 
almost  as  inexplicable  to  her  as  it  had  been  to 
her  hearer.  "  The  fact  is,"  she  went  on  slowly, 
anxious  rather  to  explain  matters  to  herself  than 
to  the  uncomprehending  woman  on  the  bed. 
"  The  fact  is  that  Celia's  coming  has  made  me 


THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN        117 

stop  to  think.  She  is  so  young  and  unsophisti- 
cated and  I  am  so  much  older  and  wiser  than 
I  need  be.  Don't  laugh,  Connie,  but  I  feel 
ashamed  sometimes  when  she  admires  me." 

Mrs.  Young  rolled  over  once  more  and 
selected  a  fresh  cigarette  from  a  box  at  the 
bedside . 

"  I  see  she  hasn't  started  annexing  your  young 
man  yet/'  she  said  dryly.  "Don't  blush  in  that 
infantile  way.  You  know  you  faced  the  possi- 
bility of  that  when  we  discussed  her  coming 
last  year." 

Eve's  risen  colour  betokened  anger  rather  than 
embarrassment.  Connie  seemed  insufferably 
vulgar  this  year  ;  yet  last  season,  staying  in  the 
same  hotel,  they  had  been  friends,  spending 
together  those  hours  unclaimed  for  the  one  by 
bridge  and  for  the  other  by  Staniforth.  It  was 
surely  impossible  that  the  girl's  mere  presence 
in  her  house  had  changed  her  taste  in  this  extra- 
ordinary manner,  yet  she  could  think  of  no  other 
cause  for  her  sudden  dislike  of  Connie's  tone. 
Even  her  relations  with  Staniforth,  which  she 
had  kept  on  ideal  levels  for  so  long,  seemed 
vulgarised  by  a  feeble  jest  she  would  scarcely 
have  noted  last  year. 

"  I  don't  think  Captain  Staniforth  shows  the 
slightest  signs  of  being  attracted  by  my  cousin," 
she  said  coldly. 

"It  has  always  been  a  source  of  wonder  to 
me  that  a  cold  woman  like  you  has  been  able 


118        THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN 

to  keep  a  man,  the  same  man,  so  long.  We  all 
know  you  are  good,  we  all  know  you  are  as 
cold  as  ice.  It  is  so  clever  of  you  to  keep  a 
man  dangling  at  exactly  the  right  distance.  With 
most  women  he'd  have  come  nearer  or  gone 
away  altogether  by  now.  But  these  affairs  don'1 
last  for  ever.;  already  it  has  been  unconscionabl) 
long.  As  it's  you,  we  know  he  can't  come 
nearer.  When  is  he  going  to  get  up  from  his 
knees  at  the  exactly  safe  distance  outside 
your  shrine  and  go  away?  Don't  be  cross.  You 
and  I  have  known  each  other  too  long  to  beai 
malice  because  of  a  little  friendly  interest  ir 
your  affairs.  Doesn't  he  even  try  to  come  an) 
nearer?  " 

Mrs.  Young's  hard  blue  eyes  scanned  Eve 
inquisitively,  but  they  gained  but  little  satis- 
faction from  the  serene  figure  that  lounged  in  £ 
basket  chair.  Even  her  beautiful  hands  la) 
perfectly  cool  and  idle  on  her  knee,  and  Connie 
being  an  observant  woman,  knew  how  often  the 
face  can  wear  a  successful  mask  while  the 
forgetful  hands  betray,  emotion  deemed  wel 
hidden , 

"  You  seem  very  sure  that  Captain  Staniforth 
is  still  at  my  shrine,  as  you  poetically  put  it,' 
said  Eve, 

Mrs.  Young  waved  her  cigarette  impatiently 

"  Of  course,  if  you  don't  want  to  confide  in 
me,  say  so  frankly.  You  know  you  can  trusl 
me." 


THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN        119 

*4 1  really  have  nothing  to  confide,"  said  Eve 
Coldly,  and  was  relieved  to  find  her  guest  took 
her  at  her  word  and  went  on  to  calm  discussion 
of  the  Government  House  fancy  ball.  When 
she  at  last  put  on  her  hat  and  summoned  her 
jhampanies  to  carry  her  home,  Connie  dared 
one  last  shot, 

0  Anyhow,  you've  always  got  your  husband  to 
reconquer  when  you  are  tired  of  your  present 
amusement.  He  is  miles  handsomer  than  Captain 
Staniforth,  and  they  say  he  will  be  Lieutenant- 
Governor  before  he  has  finished  with  India.  It 
must  be  such  fun  to  fall  in  love  with  one's 
husband  for  the  second  time  and  have  a  new 
honeymoon  without  any  of  the  discomforts  and 
unpleasantness  of  the  first.  A  pity  my  husband 
is  bald  and  distinctly  tubby,  otherwise  I'd  go 
home  at  once  and  begin  to  reconquer  his  wearied 
affection  for  me.  Goodbye,  and  remember  what 
I  say.,  When  he  is  tired  hand  him  over  to  Celia 
with  your  blessing  and  start  flirting  with  your 
husband.  He  can't  get  up  and  go  away." 

She  stepped  into  her  dandy  and  settled  the 
cushion  at  her  back  and  the  embroidered  cover 
over  her  knees.  Then  the  jhampanies  hoisted 
the  litter's  cross  bars  to  their  shoulders  and 
swung  off,  two  in  front,  two  behind,  down  the 
zigzag  path  that  led  to  Mrs.  Young's  hotel. 

Eve  watched  the  bobbing  turbans  down  the 
hillside,  her  mind  full  of  her  friend's  idle  talk. 
She  had  not  forgotten  all  her  earlier  fears 


120        THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN 

of  Celia's  youthful  attractions,  perhaps  even  she 
had  grown  to  underrate  them,  but  the  words  that 
condemned  her  of  iciness  held  a  barb.  Once  or 
twice  she  had  been  afraid  that  her  friend  was 
getting  up  from  his  knees,  anxious  to  approach 
the  shrine,  even  at  times  to  rifle  it. 

Staniforth  loved  her—^that  she  knew— and  sjie 
herself  loved  also.  She  thought  that  she  was 
in  love  with  the  actual  man  ;  in  reality  her 
loneliness  had  persuaded  her  into  believing  it. 
She  wanted  to  be  admired,  cared  for,  petted, 
adored,  and  since  Denis  gave  all  his  time  to 
India,  the  mere  woman  at  his  side  looked  beyond 
him  and  stretched  out  her  sceptre  to  another. 
She  would  have  been  horrified  if  she  could  have 
read  Staniforth's  mind,  for  he  hoped  some  day 
to  gain — everything.  Sometimes  he  marvelled 
that  she  took  so  long  to  win,  counted  the  slow 
milestones  that  marked  the  lagging  progress  of 
their  love  affair.  Once  he  had  but  held  her 
hands  and  excused  his  boldness  by  the  plea  of 
their  beauty.  The  first  time  he  kissed  her  he 
had  been  banished  for  a  week  until  Denis  had 
gone  into  camp  and  sheer  loneliness  had  ensured 
his  recall.  Presently  she  had  grown  accustomed 
to  his  kisses  and  returned  them  with  a  kind  of 
nun-like  fervour  miles  removed  from  passion, 
but  she  had  no  thought,  no  wish  to  go  farther. 
She  gave  him  all  her  spare  time  after  she  had 
fulfilled  her  social  and  domestic  duties  with 
faithful  punctuality.  For,  as  befitted  her 


THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN        121 

husband's  position,  she  counted  in  the  station, 
was  elected  to  serve  on  Committees  that  dealt 
with  Friendly  Girls  and  Christian  Young  Women. 
She  went  to  church  quite  often,  and  with  a  queer 
perversion  of  thought  refused  to  kiss  Staniforth 
on  Saturday  night  if  she  intended  to  go  to  early 
service  on  Sunday  morning.  She  did  not  think 
her  actions  really  wrong.  Denis  had  no  time 
to  kiss  her  and  every  woman  wanted  kisses, 
so  she  took  Staniforth's  as  a  certain  due,  her 
cold  temperament  realising  nothing  of  the  harm 
she  did. 

And  now  Mrs.  Young's  words  disturbed  her 
peace.  What  more  could  he  want?  He  must 
know  she  was  not  one  of  the  vulgar  women 
who  carried  on  ugly  intrigues,  or  were  even 
foolish  enough  to  leave  a  comfortable  life  on  a 
firm  foundation  for  the  stormy  waters  of  divorce. 
His  tenderness  was  infinite,  his  broad  shoulder 
such  a  pleasant  place  for  a  tired,  lonely  head, 
his  kisses  almost  reverent  in  their  dear  adora- 
tion. She  shook  off  her  trouble  with  an  effort. 
Connie  vulgarised  everything  with  her  coarse 
mind  that  could  not  understand  the  dainty  charm 
of  platonic  friendship. 

The  gong  for  tiffin  dismissed  her  fugitive 
thoughts,  and  at  the  same  moment  she  descried 
Celia  mounting  the  path  by  the  side  of  her  small 
son's  dandy.  "  Nurse  had  a  headache,"  she 
cried  when  the  cavalcade  halted  at  the  veranda 
steps.  "  And  you  were  shut  up  with  Mrs.  Young, 


122        THE   UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN 

so  I  took  Dicky  out  myself.  I  thought  you 
wouldn't  mind.  And,  Eve,  you  are  lucky  to  have 
a  baby.  I  wish  I  could  have  one — without  being 
married,  I  mean.  It  must  be  a  bore  to  be 
married  and  settled  down  for  ever— unless,  of 
course,  you  get  some  one  like  Denis,"  she  added 
as  a  polite  afterthought. 

"  It  is  very  kind  of  you  to  give  up  your 
morning  like  this,"  said  Eve  warmly. 

"  It  wasn't  a  scrap  kind,  for  I  simply  loved 
it.  Children  are  such  fun.  I  do  hope  I'll  have 
lots  when  I  do  marry.  Dicky  is  a  treasure  ;  you 
must  have  been  glad  when  he  came." 

Eve  had  a  quick  recollection  of  a  "  spoiled  " 
cold  weather  three  years  ago  when  the  expecta- 
tion of  Dicky's  arrival  had  been  a  source  of 
discontent  mingled  with  a  resigned  conviction 
that  it  was  just  as  well  to  face  maternity  and 
get  it  over  and  done  with.  She  looked  at  her 
little  son  critically.  Of  course  he  was  a  beauti- 
fully tucked  and  embroidered  baby,  she  had  seen 
to  that  herself,  and  his  nurse  was  a  paragon 
who  had  mothered  the  children  of  Lieutenant - 
Governors.  He  was  pink  and  chubby,  an 
eminently  desirable  child,  and  a  strange  flutter- 
ing stirred  at  her  heart.  Was  Celia's  presence  to 
teach  her  the  beauty  of  maternity?  She  stretched 
out  her  arms  to  the  little  lad,  but  he  turned 
aside  and  sprang  at  Celia  with  a  delighted  cry. 

"Auntie  Celia,  Auntie  Celia!"  he  cried. 
"  Take  Dicky  nuver  walk  to-morrow  day." 


THE   UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN        123 

"  Isn't  it  ducky  of  him  I  "  said  Celia,  mumbling 
at  his  fingers  in  a  way  his  mother  had  never 
done.  "  I've  seen  such  a  lot  of  him  lately,  and 
last  night  I  made  Captain  Riplingham  come  in 
after  the  picnic  so  that  I  could  see  him  in  his 
bath." 

"  That  was  nice  of  you,"  said  Eve,  turning 
away  because  she  was  suddenly  jealous  of  the 
pretty  domestic  scene.  The  same  evening  she 
came  away  from  the  garish  lights  of  the  boat- 
house  and  stole  into  her  own  dim  bungalow  like 
a  thief.  There  to  nurse's  intense  surprise  she 
sat  with  brooding  eyes  and  watched  the  ritual 
of  Dicky's  bath.  She  even  lifted  him  out  of 
the  water  and  tried  to  dry  him,  but  her  unac- 
customed hands  possessed  no  deft  touch  for  the 
tiny  limbs  and  she  was  obliged  to  hand  the 
shrieking  morsel  back  to  his  nurse. 

But  Celia's  words  had  their  effect,  and  the 
mother  began  to  revive  her  interest  in  maternity. 


CHAPTER    XIV 

FAMINE  was  proclaimed  in  his  district,  and 
Denis  Lang  went  out  to  fight  for  the  lives  of 
the  black  thousands  committed  to  his  charge. 
Week  by  week  he  waged  a  battle  such  as  no 
home-keeping  English  wit  can  realise,  fighting 
amid  the  stark  dread  of  cholera  against  loneli- 
ness and  a  heat  of  the  pit. 

He  lived  in  an  erection  playfully  called  "  a 
famine  bungalow."  Its  architecture  was  that 
of  the  first  story  of  a  house  of  cards,  and  it  was 
built  entirely  of  thatch  thinly  whitewashed  out- 
side. The  whitewash  was  not  so  much  a  hope- 
less attempt  to  fend  the  heat  as  to  guard  against 
starving  cattle  who  ate  up  famine  bungalows 
with  eager  zest. 

Inside,  the  dwelling  consisted  of  one  room, 
its  floor  of  unevenly  stamped  earth  covered  with 
a  tent  durrie  of  drab  and  scarlet  stripes.  The 
bed  was  of  native  manufacture,  fashioned  of 
interlaced  webbing  tied  to  a  wooden  framework 
on  four  short  legs.  The  sheets  that  covered  it 
were  dingy  ;  for  when  the  wells  fail  at  the  relief 
works  and  even  the  teapot  holds  a  deposit  of 

124 


THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN         125 

mud,  the  efforts  of  the  washerman  become 
perfunctory. 

The  other  furniture  had  the  wavering,  un- 
certain contours  of  chairs  and  tables  that  are 
meant  to  take  to  bits  and  are  well  acquainted 
with  marching.  A  folding  office  table  threatened 
to  fold  unseasonably  under  its  load  of  papers, 
for  the  famine  officer  must  render  a  weary 
account  of  his  weary  stewardship,  and  the 
Government  requires  a  strict  report  of  the 
annas  and  pice  that  go  to  keep  the  life  quick 
in  the  skinny  brown  body  of  the  cultivator. 

In  front  of  the  writing-table  was  a  cane- 
seated  chair  of  the  Windsor  type  ;  the  only  other 
chair  was  built  of  dun  canvas  with  a  back  which 
nodded  drunkenly  towards  the  seat  until  one 
braced  it  up  by  leaning  against  it.  A  yellow  tin 
box  and  two  camel  trunks  gaped  ready  to  hold 
the  office  papers  on  their  next  march. 

It  was  two  o'clock,  the  hottest  hour  of  the 
insufferable  day.  Denis  ought ' to  have  been 
stretched  on  the  glowing  surface  of  the  dingy 
sheets,  for  he  had  been  up  before  dawn  and 
had  not  returned  to  the  famine  bungalow  until 
long  after  midday.  He  had  sat  in  front  of  a 
nondescript  meal  of  goat  chops,  custard  pudding, 
and  hot  soda-water,  and  had  eaten  with  the 
dogged  intentness  of  a  man  who  consciously 
husbands  his  strength. 

Now  he  sat  before  his  office-table  and  tried 
to  write  to  Eve  before  he  rested,  but  words 


126        THE   UNKNOWN   STEERSMAN 

refused  to  come  and  the  muddy  ink  dried  on  his 
pen  before  he  could  frame  a  sentence.  There  was 
nothing  to  write  about  except  heat  and  famine 
and  dead  babies,  and  Eve  had  never  been  inter- 
ested in  his  work,  even  when  it  lay  in  pleasant 
places.  To-day  his  life  seemed  unusually  im- 
possible of  description  when  he  looked  round 
the  dusky  squalor  of  his  one  room  and  thought 
of  Eve  and  Celia  by  their  cool  mountain 
lake. 

The  pen  slid  from  his  wet  fingers  ;  he  rose 
listlessly,  then  stood  alert  at  the  sound  of  hoof- 
beats  that  unexpectedly  broke  the  heavy  silence. 
A  horseman  arriving  at  two  o'clock  could  only 
bring  ill  news.  Denis  strode  to  the  door  that 
shivered  back  on  its  string  hinges  and  saw 
Macintyre  dismounting  from  his  pony.  The  two 
men  did  not  speak  as  the  subaltern  loosened 
girths  and  patted  the  heaving,  streaming  flanks 
of  his  grey  country-bred.  A  syce  sprang  from 
some  lair  and  led  the  beast  away,  then  Macintyre 
faced  his  chief  and  answered  his  dumb  question- 
ing in  one  word. 

"  Cholera." 

"Where?" 

"  Deviganj,  and  they've  sent  a  dispenser  who 
speaks  Gujerati  and  not  a  word  of  Urdu,  the 
damned  fools,  and  the  coolies  can't  understand 
him,  and  there'll  soon  be  the  usual  panic,  and 
I'm  awfully  sorry  ,  sir,  but  the  only  thing  to  do 
was  to  fetch  you." 


THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN        127 

"  How  many  cases?  " 

"  Three  so  far." 

Denis  motioned  the  boy  to  the  camp  chair 
and  opened  a  bottle  of  soda.  '*  You  were  quite 
right  to  come,  and  I'll  go  back  with  you  at 
once,  but  you  are  looking  a  bit  played  out.  It 
is  dangerous  work  facing  a  cholera  scare  unless 
you're  fit." 

Macintyre  drank  thirstily.  "I'm  perfectly 
fit,"  he  said,  and  his  voice  lost  its  flat  despair 
as  he  realised  that  his  responsibility  for  six 
thousand  bodies  was  now  shared  by  his  chief. 
Already  he  was  marvellously  changed  from  that 
Macintyre  who  had  gone  discreet  morning  rides 
with  Celia  and  flirted  with  Mrs.  Cunningham. 
His  khaki  uniform,  dark  with  sweat  patches, 
looked  frayed  and  disreputable,  his  brown  boots 
and  gaiters  were  streaked  in  various  colours. 
But  the  deterioration  of  his  outward  appearance 
was  not  manifest  in  his  expression.  The  small, 
pale  eyes  that  had  once  looked  dully  out  from 
a  fattish  face  had  largened  as  the  cheeks  grew 
thin.  In  her  wasteful  manner,  Nature  had  killed 
a  few  thousand  brown  men  who  had  vainly  tried 
to  wring  a  poor  living  from  her  barren  breast, 
but  in  the  killing  she  had  brought  a  new  life 
into  the  world.  Macintyre  had  begun  to  grow 
a  soul.  Had  Fate  allowed  him  to  pass  from 
parade  to  polo  ground  and  thence  to  the  club 
month  in,  month  out,  Macintyre  would  have  had 
no  chance  in  life.  But  famine  came  and  the 


128        THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN 

Government  was  pleased  to  borrow  the  Indian 
Army  subaltern  to  help  to  fight  it,  because  he 
is  young  and  strong,  and  there  are  plenty 
of  him,  and  he  is  used  to  handling  the  Indian 
and  knows  his  language. 

Macintyre  was  glad  to  be  borrowed  because 
he  wanted  some  new  polo  ponies,  and  the  kindly 
Government  offered  a  big  increase  on  a  subal- 
tern's pay.  In  a  month  he  had  forgotten  the 
money  and  worked  through  long  hot  days  as 
only  an  Englishman  can  work. 

While  his  assistant  drank  Denis  piled  the 
official  papers  into  their  boxes,  then  he  went 
out  to  give  orders  for  his  journey.  Very  speedily 
the  sleepy  camp  was  wide  awake,  horses  saddled, 
and  sulky  camels  forced  to  their  knees  to 
receive  a  hateful  load. 

"  Your  pony  is  done  up  ;  you'll  have  to  ride 
one  of  mine,"  said  Denis  when  he  appeared 
again,  calm  and  unhurried,  yet  swift  to  his  heart- 
breaking duty. 

The  two  mounted  and  rode  out  from  the  dense, 
hot  shadow  of  the  mango -grove  into  the  hotter 
glare  of  the  open  fields.  The  piled  earth  of 
the  famine  road  was  the  only  feature  in  the 
dun  nakedness  of  a  barren  landscape.  Four 
miles  it  had  pushed  its  way  ahead,  and  on  the 
four  miles  six  thousand  men  and  women  climbed 
and  pattered,  earning  the  daily  bread  that  must 
not  be  given  as  a  free  gift. 

What  the   brown  men  really  thought  of  the 


THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN        129 

famine  road  nobody  could  tell.  When  the  sky 
withheld  the  rain  and  presently  the  cultivator 
squatted  hopeless  beside  withered  shoots  that 
could  never  bring  him  food  or  seed  for  next 
year  he  would  have  accepted  the  fate  of  starva- 
tion with  apparent  calm.  But  the  Sirkar— that 
vast,  vague  engine  which  controlled  destiny — 
would  not  permit  any  man  to  die  sitting.  The 
undefined  power  sent  messengers  who  told  of 
work,  and  of  money  to  be  given  in  exchange, 
and  soon  the  cultivators  and  their  wives  and 
families  found  themselves  set  in  the  midst  of  a 
wide  plain  away  from  their  villages. 

Here  their  work  was  prepared  for  them  ; 
surely  a  vain  and  useless  task  they  must  have 
thought  it,  for  the  men  dug  earth  out  of  one 
place  and  the  women  carried  the  spaded  soil 
in  baskets  to  pile  a  growing  mound. 

Everything  was  prepared  for  them.  In  the 
evening  when  the  measured  clods  were  dug  and 
the  appointed  task  fulfilled,  the  women  cooked 
an  evening  meal  supplied  by  improvised  grain- 
shops.  The  Sirkar  fed  them  and  clothed  them, 
and  gave  strange  milk  to  their  babies,  and  fenced 
off  their  wells  from  pollution,  and  dug  graves  all 
ready  for  those  who  refused  to  live  even  under 
this  paternal  care. 

But  how  the  Government  had  learnt  of  their 

plight  and  why  it  cared  to  interfere  was  a  puzzle 

not  to  be  unravelled.     Apparently  they  did  not 

attempt  it,  by  day  at  least,  when  the  spare  forms 

9 


130        THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN 

bent  knotted  spines  over  the  clods  and  the  line 
of  women  trod  the  path  zigzagging  up  the 
mound,  their  heads  unbowed  by  the  great  earth 
baskets  they  bore. 

Nothing  could  be  learnt  from  the  impassive 
faces,  many  of  clear  cut  and  noble  outline, 
dowered  with  a  curious  innocence  of  expression. 
Perhaps  at  night,  when  the  families  squatted 
together  over  the  cooking  vessels,  they  made 
guesses,  perhaps  at  times  they  came  to  some 
realisation  of  that  burden  which  in  some  hours 
becomes  too  heavy  even  for  the  white  man's 
shoulders. 

The  problem  must  remain  unsolved  ;  it  would 
soon  be  forgotten  wlien  next  year's  rain  fell 
and  the  cultivator's  ribs  lost  their  staring  out- 
line and  only  the  stark  famine  road  cleft  the 
ripening  landscape  as  a  sign  of  past  days. 

Denis  looked  at  his  work  with  tired  eyes 
—this  organisation  of  his  that  toiled  to  spare 
the  souls  as  well  as  the  bodies,  the  self- 
respect  as  well  as  the  stomach  contours  of 
the  brown  men. 

By  the  new-sunk  wells  Brahmins  sat  on  guard, 
their  high-caste  hands  no  source  of  offence  to 
Hindus  fearful  of  pollution.  Little  flags  stand- 
ing stiffly  out  in  the  furnace  wind  marked  the 
position  of  each  separate  gang,  controlled  by 
its  chosen  overseer. 

"  Your  men  are  fatter  than  mine,"  said  Mac- 
intyre  enviously,  "  but  your  women  aren't  as 


THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN        131 

well  dressed.  I  gave  out  three  hundred  petti- 
coats yesterday.  The  latest  draft  were  literally 
in  rags.  The  worst  is  that  the  comparatively 
well-dressed  ladies  who  see  the  new  clothes  will 
tear  their  own  up  and  will  come  to  me  for  more, 
holding  round  them  the  most  embarrassing 
rags." 

"  They're  splendid,  the  women,"  returned 
Denis.  "  I  came  across  one  poor  old  lady 
yesterday  ;  she  looked  about  ninety,  and  she 
was  squatting  on  her  haunches  digging  up  about 
a  foot  an  hour — carrying  baskets  of  earth  was 
too  heavy  for  her,  so  she  dug  with  the  men. 
I  spoke  to  her  and  told  her  she  could  go  on  the 
gratuitous  relief  list,  and  she  smiled  all  over 
her  corrugated  face  and  said  I  was  her  father 
and  her  mother  but  while  she  had  breath  she 
must  work  or  she  could  not  eat." 

"  They're  fine,"  assented  Macintyre,  "  and  yet 
look  how  they  desert  their  babies.  I've  got  a 
regular  creche  and  use  cases  of  Mellin's.  The 
little  beggars  lap  it  up  like  anything  once  they 
get  used  to  it  ;  my  last  little  lot  are  as  fat  as 
butter.  But  I  can't  think  how  I'll  ever  face  the 
regiment  again  after  distributing  petticoats  and 
mixing  patent  foods." 

Thus  they  rode  on,  these  two,  over  the  iron- 
bound  earth,  talking  lightly  and  thinking  heavily 
of  the  burden  they  had  shouldered  because  they 
were  white  men. 

At   home   in   comfortable   parlours   men   who 


132        THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN 

knew  little  even  of  England  read  their  morning 
papers  and  noted  the  Indian  telegrams  with  their 
bare  record  of  numbers  on  relief  works.  And 
those  of  them  who,  in  addition  to  being  ignorant, 
were  also  Radical  explained  that  their  own 
countrymen  were  to  be  blamed  for  famines,  and 
that  relief  works  were  expensively  run. 

One  day  on  famine  work  would  have  killed 
any  of  them,  so  it  was  unfortunate  that  so  many 
miles  of  sea  and  plain  separated  the  comfort- 
able parlour  from  the  aching  desolation  through 
which  the  famine  officers  rode. 

Dun-hued  from  helmet  to  boot  heel  they 
crawled  over  a  dun  world  lidded  by  a  pitiless 
shield  of  brass  too  near  the  earth  it  threatened 
instead  of  protecting. 

There  are  no  words  to  fit  the  fierceness  of  an 
Indian  June.  With  ice  and  punkahs  and  a 
shadowed  house  close  shut  from  early  morning 
to  sunset  it  is  a  burden  almost  intolerable.  But 
for  one  whose  only  roof -tree  is  a  house  of  woven 
twigs,  for  a  man  whose  work  is  to  ride  over  an 
unsheltered  plain  the  heat  is  as  a  Chinese 
torture.  After  all,  words  are  valueless,  for  the 
man  at  home  can  never  understand,  and  the 
man  who  has  fought  with  it  is  usually  a  man  of 
deeds  and  not  words. 

As  they  drew  near  to  Macintyre's  camp  they 
came  to  a  piled  mound  pushing  through  the 
desert  to  meet  its  counterpart  in  Denis's 
road. 


THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN        133 

With  the  sight  of  the  famine  hut  there  came 
a  sudden  penetrating  smell.  Denis  looked 
inquiringly  at  his  companion. 

"  I  forgot  to  tell  you,"  said  Macintyre  ;  "one 
of  the  elephants  dropped  dead  last  night  and 
we  can't  move  him  ;  I'm  afraid  he'll  be  poison- 
ing the  whole  camp  by  now." 

It  was  unfortunate  that  the  monster  had 
chosen  to  die  within  sight  and  smell  of  the 
famine  bungalow.  Even  its  meagre  roof -tree 
could  not  be  used  to  shelter  them  that  day. 
The  camels  were  unloaded  on  the  far  side  of  the 
grove,  and  even  then  wafts  of  decaying  elephant 
were  mingled  with  the  indescribable  smell  of 
crowded  Indian  bodies. 

The  cholera  seemed  more  a  scare  than  an 
epidemic,  but  the  Gujerati  dispenser  was  pleased 
that  he  knew  no  Urdu  and  must  be  replaced  at 
once.  A  man  had  died  and  was  already  buried 
in  one  of  the  graves  which  a  business-like  famine 
officer  digs  before  ever  he  has  collected  his 
workers.  A  second  lay  in  no  hopeless  condition, 
for  the  disease,  relaxing  its  clutch,  left  only 
the  fear  of  sudden  collapse  to  be  fought.  The 
third  had  recovered  from  a  bad  attack  of  unripe 
mangoes  stolen  from  the  tree  that  sheltered 
the  bungalow,  and  he  was  already  back  at 
work. 

The  spirits  of  both  men  were  lighter  when 
they  ventured  near  the  elephant  to  see  whether 
he  was  sinking  any  deeper  into  the  ground  the 


134        THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN 

coolies  were  digging  round  his  putrefying  bulk. 
But  they  fled  hastily  and  were  very  thoughtful 
for  half  an  hour  in  their  open-air  camp  beyond 
the  grove. 


CHAPTER    XV 

THE  first  week  of  July  came  and  there  was  no 
hope  of  the  rains.  At  times  the  clouds  banked 
like  fortresses,  but  they  crumbled  again  and  left 
the  fierce  sky  to  its  cruel  oppression  of  the  earth. 
The  burning  loo  died,  and  in  its  stead  came  the 
insidious  east  wind  which  saps  the  Englishman's 
vitality  with  its  hot  moisture. 

The  air  was  heavy  as  a  wet  feather  bed,  and 
Macintyre,  farther  away  from  Denis,  who  was 
now  in  a  fresh  camp,  began  to  have  a  daily 
headache.  The  native  hospital  assistant,  who 
saw  to  the  health  of  the  community  still  pattering 
over  an  advancing  mound,  dosed  him  with 
quinine  and  shook  an  oily  head  over  daily 
vagaries  of  the  clinical  thermometer. 

He  would  have  taken  the  matter  more 
seriously  but  that  he  had  grown  accustomed  to 
Macintyre  and  did  not  wish  to  receive  a  new 
officer  sahib  from  the  black  regiments.  A  new 
official  meant  flurry  and  examinations  of  drugs 
in  the  dispensary  and  endless  trouble  for  a 
blameless  Bengali. 

So  he  did  not  advise  the  boy  to  apply  for  sick 
leave  but  spoke  hopefully  of  the  coming  of  the 


136        THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN 

rains  and  the  near  disbandment  of  the  coolies. 
Naturally  Macintyre  was  loth  to  leave  the 
glorious  accomplishment  of  his  task  to  another 
who  had  borne  none  of  its  heat  and  burden.  He 
fought  against  his  headaches  with  the  dogged 
pride  of  an  Englishman  on  his  mettle. 

The  headaches  conquered  him  at  last,  but  not 
before  he  was  well  in  the  grip  of  a  fierce  attack 
of  enteric.  When  even  the  dispenser  was  con- 
vinced, and  no  power  moral  or  physical  could 
keep  Macintyre  on  his  feet  any  "longer,  he  sent  a 
message  to  Denis  and  lay  back  on  his  string 
bedstead  with  a  faint  surprise  that  he  was 
really  ill. 

Through  one  pitiless  day  he  stared  at  the 
four  walls  of  thatch,  at  the  files  on  his  office 
table,  at  the  holes  and  ink  stains  in  the  durrie. 
Through  one  suffocating  night  his  wits  wandered, 
and  at  dawn,  having  visions  of  the  brook  at 
home,  he  leaped  from  his  bed  to  find  it  and 
plunge  in  the  healing  waters. 

When  the  hospital  assistant  came  on  his  early 
morning  rounds  Macintyre  lay  before  the  door, 
the  big  black  ants  running  busily  over  his  dead 
limbs. 

Fearfully  the  native  waited  for  Denis  Lang's 
coming,  but  no  sound  of  hurrying  pony's 
feet  struck  upon  the  mango-grove.  The  dead 
sahib  must  be  buried  at  sunset,  and  presently, 
since  the  scanned  horizon  gave  no  promise  of 
help,  the  Bengali  set  about  the  funeral. 


THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN        137 

Little  work  was  needed.  Unwashed,  un- 
shrived  by  woman's  hands,  shrouded  but  in  a 
torn  and  soiled  sleeping-suit,  Macintyre  lay  in 
a  rough  box  of  mango-wood.  At  sunset  out -caste 
men,  who  alone  consent  to  touch  the  dead, 
lowered  his  coffin  into  one  of  the  waiting  graves. 

No  romantic  figure,  one  might  say,  this  red- 
haired,  fattish  youth.  The  sword  they  sent  to 
his  mother  was  unfleshed — he  had  never  seen 
active  service.  His  little  meed  of  praise,  shrined 
later  in  a  famine  report,  made  mention  only  of 
lives  saved.  Dying  for  his  brown  brother,  he 
lost  all  chance  of  a  glorious  slaying  by  a  brown 
man's  arm.  Like  Saul  who  went  out  to  find 
asses  and  gained  a  kingdom,  Macintyre  had  gone 
out  to  find  polo  ponies  and  gained  his  own  soul. 


CHAPTER    XVI 

THE  Pioneer  described  in  a  cold  little  para- 
graph the  manner  of  Macintyre's  death,  and  Eve 
read  it  aloud  as  she  sat  at  lunch  with  Celia. 
Eve  was  sympathetic  in  her  vague  fashion,  but 
she  only  thought  of  the  dead  boy  as  a  red- 
haired  subaltern  useful  to  fill  a  gap  at  dinner- 
party, and  by  some  mysterious  arrangement 
given  to  her  husband  as  an  assistant  for  his 
incomprehensible  work. 

But  Celia  was  different.  Her  knowledge  of 
India'  was  short ;  she  had  not  yet  gained 
familiarity  with  the  constant  shadow  of  death. 
Macintyre  gained  distinction  in  her  mind  as  the 
first  man  she  had  met  in  India,  except  Denis, 
who  did  not  count.  They  had  ridden  together, 
she  had  watched  him  play  polo,  her  heart  afire 
at  the  splendid  rush  of  men  and  ponies.  He 
had  even  promised  to  come  up  to  the  hills  when 
the  rains  should  be  well  started  and  the  famine 
works  dropped.  And  now  this  memory,  alive  and 
quick,  must  change  suddenly  into  an  imagination 
that  stopped  short  perforce  with  an  untended 
grave. 

Celia's  knife  and  fork  dropped  and  she  stared 

138 


THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN        139 

into  vacancy,  conning  a  vision  of  Macintyre 
dead.  She  had  never  seen  a  dead  body,  but  she 
pictured  him  as  she  had  last  seen  him,  only  that 
his  pale  eyes  were  shrouded  now  by  dropped 
white  lids.  Emotionalism  had  grown  on  her  in 
the  last  months,  and  although  she  had  never 
cared  particularly  for  him,  a  sob  rose  in  her 
throat  in  pity,  not  so  much  for  his  death  as  for 
the  manner  of  it. 

Eve   looked  up  in  surprise. 

"  I  didn't  know  you  were  such  a  friend  of 
his.  Of  course  it's  sad,  and  Denis  will  miss  him, 
but  it  isn't  worth  while  making  your  nose  swollen 
and  pie-crusty.  He's  dead  and  buried,  poor  boy, 
but  Captain  Riplingham  is  alive  and  is  riding 
up  the  path  at  this  moment.  Why  are  you  start- 
ing so  early?  " 

"  Oh,  we're  going  miles  and  miles,"  said 
Celia,  diving  for  a  handkerchief  in  a  submerged 
pocket  of  her  habit.  "  That's  why  I  dressed 
before  lunch.  We're  to  have  a  picnic  tea  at  a 
forest  bungalow  ;  he  sent  his  man  on  this  morn- 
ing. You  don't  mind,  do  you?  " 

It  did  not  occur  to  Eve  to  mind,  she  was  too 
busy  over  her  own  arrangements  for  the  after- 
noon. She  went  out  to  the  veranda  and  talked 
to  Riplingham  while  Celia  put  on  her  hat,  and 
when  the  two  were  mounted  and  off  down  the 
path  she  waved  her  hand  with  a  perfunctory 
"  Take  care  of  her,"  imagining  her  duty  thus 
completed. 


140        THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN 

The  two  rode  along  the  stony  hill  path  that 
wound  like  a  shelf  scooped  out  of  the  mountain- 
side. They  were  still  in  civilised  boundaries, 
and  here  and  there  bungalows  perched  in  clear- 
ings on  broader  shelves  a  little  away  from  the 
main  path.  Black  boards  affixed  to  trees  bore 
in  white  lettering  the  names  of  the  bungalows' 
inhabitants,  and  little  tin  boxes,  nailed  hard  by, 
gaped  for  visiting  cards  while  they  proclaimed 
with  lying  hardihood  the  fact  that  their  owners 
were  "  not  at  home." 

Riplingham  extracted  two  cards  from  a  pocket 
and  leaning  sideways  from  his  horse,  dropped 
them  rattling  through  a  slit  in  a  tin  lid. 

"  It's  long  after  two,  but  she'll  never  know 
I  called  in  uncanonical  hours,"  he  said  as  he 
rejoined  Celia  pacing  her  horse  ahead.  As  he 
came  up  he  noticed  her  drooping  mood  and 
quenched  gaiety.  Her  eyes,  lifted  to  meet  his, 
showed  a  new  melancholy  that  deepened  their 
blueness.  His  amative  interest  felt  a  new  spur. 
He  could  forgive  a  woman  any  sin  save  that 
of  an  even  temperament — to  charm  him  she  must 
change  her  moods  with  her  gowns.  His  ideal 
would  have  shown  a  certain  affinity  with  a 
chameleon. 

Their  intimacy  had  progressed  swiftly  with 
the  passing  weeks.  Celia's  growing  knowledge 
of  life  was  teaching  her  tongue  a  little  of  the 
habit  of  restraint,  she  was  no  longer  so  flagrant 
in  her  demand  for  kisses.  And,  naturally,  as 


THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN        141 

she  drew  back  the  man  felt  an  impulse  to  pursue. 
It  seemed  to  him  a  pity  to  waste  these  glorious 
hours.  Next  month  he  was  to  go  home  on 
leave,  and  when  he  returned  his  regiment  would 
be  transferred,  and  the  little  episode  must  perish 
from  inanition.  Of  course,  he  had  not  the  least 
intention  of  pressing  an  engagement  on  her  when* 
she  gave  him  all  he  wanted  without  a  sign  of 
imposing  fetters. 

The  last  week  or  two,  however,  had  seemed 
to  bring  her  disquiet.  Several  times  she  had 
fled  from  his  love-making,  to-day  she  seemed 
hardly  aware  of  his  existence.  He  bent  towards 
her  with  the  appealing  intensity  she  had  admired 
at  their  first  meeting,  but  this  time  she  realised 
the  existence  of  some  deeper  feeling. 

""Little  woman,  you  are  forgetting  I'm  here. 
Is  anything  the  matter?  "  he  asked  caressingly. 
The  tenderness  in  eyes  and  voice  drove  her  back 
beyond  a  frail  barrier  of  self -protection. 

'"  You  oughtn't  really  to  call  me  that,"  she 
said  in  a  tone  that  fluttered  with  joy  while  it 
strove  to  express  offended  dignity. 

"  Why  not?  Aren't  you  a  dear  little  woman 
— my  dear  little  woman?  "  He  caught  her  un- 
occupied right  hand  and  kissed  it  with  a  fervour 
that  sent  the  blood  coursing  through  her  veins. 
She  seemed  charged  with  emotion  to-day,  arid 
her  baby  mouth  quivered  with  some  strange 
mixture  of  gladness  that  warred  with  grief. 

The  sight  of  her  moved  face  was  too  much 


142        THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN 

for  him.  A  swift  backward  glance  showed  no 
one  in  sight  down  the  tree -arched  path  ;  in 
front  it  climbed  emptily  under  the  green  tunnel. 
Once  more  he  leaned  from  his  saddle,  but  this 
time  his  arm  found  Celia's  waist.  Shoulder  to 
shoulder  the  horses  ambled  upwards  while  their 
riders  bent  towards  each  other.  This  time  there 
seemed  to  be  no  difficulty  about  hat  brims,  and 
lips  met  in  clinging  accord  as  though  they  would 
never  part  again. 

But  all  too  soon  for  her  wishes  he  drew  back 
with  another  glance  down  the  road.  He  liked 
to  do  his  love-making  in  comfort,  and  the  flap 
of  Celia's  saddle  grazed  his  knee  uncomfortably. 
She  bent  her  head  to  hide  her  cheeks  and  forgot 
her  sorrow  for  Macintyre  in  a  tumultuous  delight 
that  resented  the  calmness  with  which  her  com- 
panion passed  straight  from  paradise  into  the 
common  world,  for  he  took  out  his  cigarette- 
case  and  lit  a  cigarette.  She  was  half  angry  at 
his  action,  seeing  ill-treatment,  not  in  his  kiss 
but  in  the  every-day  thought  that  followed  hard 
on  it. 

She  was  angry  again  when  in  ordinary  tones 
he  repeated  his  earlier  question. 

"  Nothing  is  the  matter,"  she  said,  a  little 
fretfully  because  of  her  jarred  young  nerves. 
"  At  least,  nothing  that  can  be  helped  ;  poor 
Mr.  Macintyre  is  dead." 

"  Yes,  I  saw  that,  poor  chap,"  he  replied 
soberly,  then  an  unworthy  thought  made  him 


THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN        143 

look  at  her  with  close  attention.  "  What  was 
he  to  you?  "  he  asked.  "Did  you  care  for 
him.  Did  he  ever  kiss  you  as  I  do?  " 

This  time  the  pulsing  blood  was  driven  in 
anger,  not  in  joy  or  shame. 

"  Of  course  he  didn't.  Why,  he  was  hideous. 
I  wouldn't  have  kissed  him  for  anything. 
Nobody  ever  kissed  me  except  you,  and  you 
shan't  again." 

He  smiled  at  her  vehemence  with  the  poisoned 
recollection  of  Ethel  Cunningham's  advice  crawl- 
ing anew  through  his  mind.  Surely  Macintyre 
was  the  man  who  had  listened  to  Celia's  first 
explanation  of  her  views  on  love  and  passion. 
And  now  she  drooped  at  hearing  of  his  death, 
though  she  still  looked  so  virginal,  so  innocent, 
so  unkissed. 

"  You  are  quite  mistaken  in  one  of  your 
remarks,  Miss  Ferriby."  He  paused  and  she 
noted  the  change  in  his  tone  and  the  con- 
ventional address.  A  sudden  terror  overcame 
her  that  she  had  quenched  him  for  ever,  but 
before  she  had  time  to  say  a  wor'd  he  was  speak- 
ing again.  "  Yes,  you're  quite  mistaken  in  your 
last  sentence,  for  I  am  quite  resolved  to  kiss 
you  again.  When  we  presently  arrive  at  our 
destination,  you  shall  boil  the  kettle  and  we 
will  eat  the  sandwiches  and  the  cakes,  and  I 
shall  send  the  coolie  home,  and  then  I  shall  take 
you  in  my  arms  and  kiss  you  repeatedly,  and 
you  will  enjoy  it." 


144        THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN 

To  Celia  the  brutality  of  his  words  was  the 
sweetest  sound  she  had  ever  heard.  Up  flooded 
the  pink  again,  and  her  blue  eyes  melted  at  the 
strange  riot  of  her  senses.  Her  breath  strangled 
in  her  throat  so  that  she  could  not  speak,  but 
her  brain  told  her  that  this  was  passion,  and 
she  was  really  living  at  last. 

The  man  at  her  side  again  felt  a  touch  of  his 
former  resentment  at  an  easy  victory.  She  nearly 
always  seemed  to  mean  more  than  he  did — to 
mean  everything,  in  fact.  He  had  evidently  been 
mistaken  in  her  colder  attitude  of  the  last  week. 
She  did  not  attempt  to  renew  her  feeble  scold- 
ing, but  rode  on  with  a  trembling  bridle  hand 
while  he  talked  casually  of  their  life  in  the  hollow 
by  the  lake,  smoking  the  while  in  the  detached 
manner  which  annoyed  and  astonished  her. 

Presently  they  reached  the  pass  and  rode 
through  it  into  more  open  country.  The  hill- 
sides, no  longer  covered  with  oak  and  rhododen- 
dron, were  ruled  into  the  neat  green  lines  of 
tea  plantations  that  climbed  in  steps  down  into 
a  far  valley  cleft  by  a  shining  blade  of  water. 
The  squat,  round-headed  bushes  bordered  the 
widened  pathway  which  now  had  no  screen  of 
trees,  so  that  the  afternoon  sun  beat  fiercely 
enough  on  the  exposed  hillside  and  Celia  grew 
a  little  weary. 

But  already  the  forest  bungalow  was  in  sight, 
tree-shaded  on  a  rounded  knoll,  and  presently 
they  pulled  up  before  its  whitewashed  veranda. 


THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN        145 

Three  glass  doors  stood  open  showing  the  gaunt 
interiors  of  three  rooms  side  by  side,  in  each 
room  a  table,  a  string  bedstead,  a  couple  of 
chairs.  No  one  was  in  sight  except  the  coolie 
who  had  carried  the  tea  basket,  now  balanced 
precariously  on  the  edge  of  the  veranda, 

"  I  didn't  bring  a  servant,"  said  Riplingham. 
"  I  thought  he  might  be  in  the  way.  You  don't 
mind  boiling  the  spirit  stove,  do  you?  " 

Celia  was  glad  to  be  busy  ;  she  unpacked 
the  basket  and  lighted  the  lamp  while  Ripling- 
ham and  the  coolie  dragged  a  table  and  two 
chairs  from  one  of  the  gaunt  rooms .  She  spread 
the  little  lace-trimmed  tray  cloth,  so  strange  a 
thing,  she  thought,  to  appear  in  a  man's  tea 
basket,  for  she  did  not  know  how  often  he 
had  given  little  entertainments  of  this  kind. 
When  the  kettle  began  to  fizz  and  spurt  she 
prepared  the  tea  and  they  sat  down  to  their 
meal. 

Celia  could  not  eat  because  her  heart  took  up 
so  much  room  in  her  throat.  His  words  con- 
cerning kisses  buzzed  through  her  head,  and 
again  she  was  surprised  at  the  interest  he  was 
able  to  take  in  the  composition  of  sandwiches  and 
the  precise  flavour  of  iced  cakes.  Her  first  love 
episode  in  the  ticca  was  to  be  repeated.  She 
was  going  to  be  kissed,  not  in  that  hurried, 
uncomfortable,  yet  delicious  embrace  permitted 
by  the  good  grace  of  their  ambling  horses,  but 
kissed  with  an  exciting,  interesting  completeness . 
10 


146        THE   UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN 

She  had  really  won  a  lover  as  beautiful  as  any 
of  the  pictures  in  the  "  Kitchen  Myosotis." 

Meanwhile  Riplingham  ate  and  drank  and 
smoked  with  an  outward  calm.  In  reality  he 
was  thinking  of  the  coming  moment.  He  had 
not  the  slightest  conception  of  the  state  of  Celia's 
mind.  Everything  pointed  to  the  idea  that  she 
knew  all  that  could  be  known  but  adopted  an 
attractive  pose  of  virginal  innocence. 

They  sat  for  a  few  moments  over  the  empty 
cups,  and  then  he  looked  across  at  her  with  a 
smile  as  he  threw  away  his  cigarette  end. 

"  We'll  pack  up  the  cups  now  and  send  the 
coolie  off,  and  then  we  shall  be  nice  and  comfy 
by  ourselves  ;  I  told  the  chowkidar  he  could 
go,"  he  said.  She  could  not  reply,  but  piled  the 
things  slowly  together,  anxious  now  to  postpone 
the  minute  she  had  longed  to  enjoy.  But  the 
interval  was  quickly  past  ;  within  five  minutes 
the  hill  man  was  trotting  away,  his  bare,  gnarled 
legs  showing  chocolate -hued  beneath  the  brown 
blanket  that  draped  his  shoulders,  while  one  bare, 
gnarled  arm  held  the  tea-basket  safe  on  his 
surprising  head.  Side  by  side  on  the  veranda 
they  watched  the  gnome -like  form  trot  out  of 
their  world,  leaving  them  in  the  Himalayan 
solitude . 

Even  then  he  did  not  speak,  but  he  drew  her 
towards  him  and  her  relaxed  body  nestled  into 
his  arms.  Her  mind  seemed  to  faint  into  dark- 
ness, and  she  was  a  mere  bundle  of  sense  per- 


THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN        147 

ception  with  a  heart  that  was  almost  suffocating 
at  every  beat.  .When  the  long  embrace  was 
ended  he  drew  her  down  to  the  edge  of  the 
veranda . 

".We'll  sit  here  and  dangle  our  feet.  You 
don't  mind  sitting  on  the  ground,  do  you? 
Those  chairs  all  have  arms,  and  chair  arms  get 
in  the  way  so  when  you  want  to  hold  a  little 
woman  quite  close." 

Again  his  every-day  accents  struck  coldly,  but 
his  actions  were  warmer  than  his  tones.  She 
had  taken  off  her  hat,  and  now  her  bare  head 
rested  on  his  shoulder,  his  lips  were  busy  with 
the  silky  waves  of  her  hair. 

"*  You've  got  the  dearest,  sweetest  hair  I've 
ever  seen/'  he  murmured.  Celia  was  so  much 
surprised  that  she  disentangled  herself  and  sat 
up  straight. 

"  Do  you  really  like  it?  "  she  asked  anxiously. 
"  I  always  want  it  to  be  dark  like  Eve's,  and 
it  is  such  a  worry,  it's  so  soft  the  pins  drop  out 
and  it's  always  coming  down." 

"  Let  down  now,"  commanded  Kiplingham, 
"I'd  love  to  see  it  all  over  your  shoulders." 
But  Celia's  Fendyke  education  revolted  at  the 
idea.  Hair  once  put  up  became  indecent  in 
any  other  guise.  Even  washing  and  drying  it 
in  Fendyke  had  to  be  managed  with  a  due  regard 
to  the  vicar's  absence  the  other  side  of  the 
parish. 

"  Of  course  I  couldn't  let  it  down  ;    suppose 


148        THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN 

some  one  passed  and  saw  me,"  she  said  in  a 
shocked  tone . 

"  But  you  let  me  kiss  you,"  remonstrated  Rip- 
lingham,  "  and  some  one  might  have  passed 
then." 

"  There's  a  difference,"  said  Celia  helplessly, 
and  she  really  thought  there  was,  so  that  she 
resisted  with  a  certain  amount  of  firmness  when 
he  began  to  extract  the  pins  and  lay  them  in 
a  row  by  his  side.  In  a  moment  the  shining 
masses  came  tumbling  about  her  face,  gold  to 
lave  eager  hands  and  even  more  eager  lips. 

"  Hair,  such  a  wonder  of  flix  and  floss." 

"  Freshness  and  fragrance— floods  of  it,  too." 
He  quoted  with  a  sudden  recollection  of  life 
before  he  became  an  A.D.C.  and  had  no  more 
time  for  Browning. 

"  That's  poetry,  I  suppose,"  said  Celia.  "  I've 
never  read  any.  Say  some  more."  But  the 
call  of  the  flesh  was  gaining  on  him  every 
moment,  and  if  he  had  quoted  more  poetry  it 
must  have  been  Swinburne  and  not  Browning, 
whose  methods  would  so  easily  have  drawn  a 
convincing  picture  of  the  child  at  his  side. 

"I'm  glad  you  like  my  hair,"  she  went  on 
presently,  "  but  isn't  it  time  I  put  it  up  again? 
iWe  mustn't  be  too  late  or  Eve  won't  let  me 
come  next  time  you  ask  me." 

"  Come  inside  and  we'll  find  a  looking-glass," 
he  said,  growing  more  unsteady  as  his  companion 
progressed  towards  calmness,  her  untaught  capa- 


THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN        149 

city  already  growing  sated  by  his  lengthened 
kisses.  His  encircling  arm  drew  her  over  the 
threshold  of  one  of  the  rooms,  but  when  she 
made  towards  a  square  of  looking-glass  that 
hung  askew  on  a  nail,  he  drew  her  away  and 
sitting  down  on  the  edge  of  the  bare  string  bed- 
stead perched  her  on  his  knee. 

Over  her  head  his  eyes  roved  about  the  gaunt 
room.  The  flaking  walls,  tarred  to  dado  height 
and  orange -plastered  above,  were  bare  except 
for  the  broken  looking-glass  and  a  printed  list 
of  rules  that  governed  the  accommodation  of 
touring  forest  officers.  Two  wooden  chairs  with 
cane  seats  and  rounded  arms  were  drawn  stiffly 
up  at  the  head  and  foot  of  a  battered  table. 
The  floor  was  partly  hidden  by  a  gnawed  and 
stained  durrie  of  incredible  ugliness  expressed 
in  drab  and  scarlet  stripes.  There  was  nothing 
else  in  the  room  except  the  bare  string  bed- 
stead on  which  they  sat  and  clung  together. 

Suddenly  Celia  found  herself  flung  to  her  feet 
with  a  hoarse  command  thrown  at  her  by  Rip- 
lingham  as  he  dashed  from  the  doorway. 

"Do  up  your  hair.  It's  late,"  came  with 
unaccountable  harshness.  Again  somewhat 
aggrieved,  Celia  walked  over  to  the  looking-glass 
and  did  all  she  could  with  her  flowing  hair. 

She  did  not  know  that  but  for  the  man's 
fastidiousness  the  hour  of  her  undoing  had  been 
even  now  past.  She  was  saved,  not  by  virtue 
of  the  rector's  system  of  education,  but  because 


150        THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN 

the  sordid  squalor  of  the  room  had  suddenly 
revolted  the  sensitive  nature  of  an  epicure  in 
emotional  episodes.  Not  in  such  a  setting  could 
Riplingham  play  the  complete  lover.  And  so, 
but  for  the  hot  kisses  she  did  not  comprehend, 
Celia  went  forth  unscathed. 


CHAPTER    XVII 

OF  course,  he  was  glad  next  morning,  and 
blessed  the  repulsive  room  which  had  so  oppor- 
tunely jarred  his  sensitive  nature.  He  was  glad 
also  that  his  leave  was  nearly  due.  For  one 
brief  moment  he  saw  himself  a  chaste  Hippolytus 
flying  before  the  demands  of  Celia,  but  a  saving 
grace  of  humour  banished  the  absurd  picture, 
and  he  sat  down  to  plan  out  a  sane  course  of 
action  for  the  days  that  must  intervene  between 
the  hill  station  and  safety.  As  he  had  repented 
their  first  love  passages  on  the  evening  of  the 
river  picnic,  so  he  now  cursed  himself  for  an 
amorous  lunatic  who  could  not  be  trusted  to 
repel  a  girl  of  such  a  coming  on  disposition  as 
he  believed  Celia  to  be. 

Conscientiously  he  invented  engagements, 
interesting  himself  in  regimental  football 
matches  and  entering  for  a  local  polo  tourna- 
ment. Once,  having  departed  from  his  usual 
custom  of  settling  dances  with  her  beforehand, 
he  arrived  in  the  ballroom  late  and  deplored  a 
programme  filled  at  the  dinner-party  at  which 
he  had  been  a  guest.  Celia's  eyes  flinched  from 

161 


152        THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN 

his  excuses  as  though  he  had  hurt  her  physically, 
but  she  answered  nothing. 

She  had  saved  three  dances  for  him,  and 
since  he  did  not  claim  them  she  sat  out  in  the 
dressing-room  and  swore  that  she  would  never 
speak  to  "him  again.  With  a  heroism  that 
astonished  herself  she  was  able  to  allege  a  full 
programme  when  he  decided  it  would  not  look 
well  to  neglect  her  at  the  next  dance.  It  was 
his  turn  to  look  hurt,  but  she  smiled  bravely. 
And  so  the  silly  comedy  went  on,  wearing  its 
way  through  to  tragedy. 

Only  a  week  was  left  before  he  was  to  sail 
from  Bombay  when  Eve  found  occasion  to  groan 
over  a  letter  from  her  husband. 

"  Denis  is  really  too  thoughtless,"  she  said 
to  Celia.  "  He  has  told  the  Rat-Catcher  to  come 
and  spend  ten  days  with  us,  and  he  will  arrive 
to-morrow." 

"  A  rat-catcher?  " 

"  Yes,  plague  man,  you  know.  He  wanders 
round  the  country  setting  rat-traps."  Eve's 
vague  explanation  hardly  penetrated  her  cousin's 
brain,  for  she  was  feeling  with  a  heart -sick 
realisation  that  the  presence  of  a  guest  in  the 
house  would  spoil  any  chance  of  her  coming 
to  an  understanding  with  Riplingham.  She  had 
meant  to  keep  up  her  pose  of  offended  dignity 
until  just  near  the  end  of  the  time  when  she 
intended  to  force  an  explanation  from  the  lover 
who  had  suddenly  drawn  back  his  gift  of  love 


THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN        153 

and  offered  her  neglect  in  its  stead.  And  now, 
perhaps,  there  would  be  no  such  opportunity. 

Next  day  arrived  the  Rat-Catcher,  a  strenuous 
young  man  who  talked  horribly  of  buboes,  and 
shouted  plague  statistics  at  the  top  of  a  raucous 
voice.  His  enthusiasm  was  boundless,  and 
seemed  unaffected  by  the  fact  that  he  had  spent 
the  larger  part  of  the  hot  weather  touring  round 
villages  and  examining  rat-traps.  Nevertheless, 
he  gloried  in  the  hill  coolness  and  raced  Celia 
breathlessly  up  and  down  khuds,  discoursing 
on  plague  prevention  while  she  dreamed  of 
Riplingham. 

When  she  could  bear  it  no  more  she  wrote 
a  note  to  "him  in  her  childish  hand.  "  I  think 
I  have  made  you  cross  with  me  somehow,"  it 
ran.  "  If  I  have,  I  don't  know  how  or  why,  but 
I  want  you  to  forgive  me  because  I  don't 
suppose  I  shall  ever  see  you  again  after  this 
week.  Ages  ago  you  promised  to  come  to  dinner 
on  your  last  evening.  We  have  a  horrible  man 
staying  with  us,  but  we  might  find  a  moment 
to  say  goodbye." 

Riplingham  did  not  try  to  withstand  her 
appeal.  He  knew  that  nothing  compromising 
could  happen  in  Eve's  drawing-room  under  the 
eyes  of  other  guests,  and  he  felt  he  deserved 
a  little  reward  for  his  abstinence.  Besides,  it 
would  be  unkind  to  the  child  to  refuse  her 
pathetic  request  for  a  goodbye,  so  he  wrote  to 
Eve  and  invited  himself  for  his  last  evening. 


154        THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN 

When  the  day  came  there  were  only  the  four. 
Staniforth  declared  himself  weary  of  the  rat- 
catcher's conversation  and  refused  to  join  the 
party,  and  Eve  had  not  troubled  to  invite  any. 
one  else. 

"  You'll  have  to  talk  plague  all  dinner-time," 
said  Eve,  as  she  shook  hands  with  her  guest, 
"  but  please  deliver  us  after  dinner  and  sing." 

He  turned  to  pay  his  respects  to  Celia,  and 
since  he  could  not  caress  her,  he  put  all  his  soul 
into  his  eyes  and  the  pressure  of  his  hand  made 
her  fingers  ache.  Her  spirits  rose  with  a  bound  ; 
she  was  certain  their  misunderstanding  could 
be  cleared,  and  fell  to  planning  how  she  could 
see  him  alone  for  five  minutes. 

Then  the  Rat-Catcher  bustled  into  the  drawing- 
room,  and  they  went  in  to  dinner.  Riplingham's 
eyes  sent  messages  without  number  to  Celia. 
All  his  old  feeling  for  her  came  back  the  more 
intensely  for  his  abstinence,  and  he  ached  for  her 
lips  and  the  softness  of  her  yielding  body.  But 
outwardly  his  attention  was  fixed  on  the  steady 
stream  of  plague  information  which  poured  from 
the  enthusiast's  lips. 

"  There's  no  plague  in  the  hot  weather,"  de- 
claimed the  Rat -Catcher,  "  so  I  spend  that  time 
in  going  round  the  villages  and  talking  about 
rats  and  distributing  rat-traps.  I  pay  a  rupee 
for  every  hundred  rats  caught." 

"Do  they  bring  you  the  bodies?"  asked 
Riplingham. 


THE   UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN        155 

"-No,  only  the  tails.  I've  got  a  mound  of 
tails  in  my  compound,  six  lakhs  of  them." 

"  Are  you  sure  there  isn't  a!  Birmingham  rat- 
tail  industry?  " 

"  They  did  bring  me  mock  tails  once,  made 
of  leather  soaked  in  oil,  but  I'm  not  a  fool 
and  I  spotted  them.  Personally,  I  don't  believe 
altogether  in  the  rat  theory  of  plague,  but  it 
gives  the  people  something  to  think  about.  Also 
our  energy  in  fighting  the  disease  impresses 
them.  You  know  they  believed  at  first  that  we 
English  introduced  the  plague  to  kill  them  off 
without  the  worry  and  expense  of  a'  big  war. 
They  are  beginning  to  realise  now  that  a  plague 
officer  works  nearly  as  hard  as  a  famine  officer, 
and  that's  saying  a  lot." 

"  Aren't  you  afraid  of  catching  it?  "  asked 
Eve  with  a  shiver. 

"  Not  a  bit  ;  I'm  no  more  likely  to  catch  it 
than  you  are.  A  rat  flea  might  bite  you  and 
infect  you  just  as  easily  as  it  might  jump 
on  me." 

Eve  plainly  thought  him  rather  vulgar,  but 
his  hobby  was  dear  to  him,  and  Riplingham 
encouraged  the  conversation  which  gave  him 
time  to  look  at  Celia  as  much  as  he  liked. 

"  The  Government  gave  me  the  rest-house 
outside  Chotapur  for  my  observation  work.  I 
kept  my  bottles  in  one  room,  slept  in  another, 
and  kept  a  third  free  for  any  passing  traveller. 
I  was  sitting  on  the  veranda  late  one  night  after 


156        THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN 

dinner  when  a  peculiarly  offensive  Bengali 
official  rolled  up.  '  Sir/  he  said,  '  I  claim  my 
right  to  a  night's  rest  in  this  bungalow.'  I 
remarked  that  I  didn't  dispute  it,  and  he  went 
into  the  vacant  quarters.  In  a  few  minutes  he 
came  to  me  again  perfectly  green  with  fear. 
*  Sir/  he  began,  '  in  my  bathroom  are  three 
cages  containing  rats,  all  apparently  in  extremis. 
Your  servants  say  you  are  plague  officer.  Can 
it  be  that  these  stricken  rats  are  plague-infested 
and  will  be  dying  in  my  bathroom?  '  '  They  are 
plague  rats,  all  right/  I  replied,  *  but  I'll  have 
them  removed  to  my  bathroom  at  once.'  Before 
I  could  finish  my  sentence  that  Bengali  was 
legging  it  into  the  Ewigkeit  and  I  never  saw 
him  again.  I  am  afraid  we  get  rather  callous 
over  our  work." 

He  paused  for  breath,  but  Riplingham 
prompted  him  to  fresh  efforts. 

"  I  suppose  mortality  from  plague  is  very 
high?  "  he  asked  guilefully. 

"  Very  few  Indians  get  over  it,  though  the 
percentage  of  recoveries  rises  every  year.  You 
see,  Indians  haven't  any  stamina  and  they  just 
collapse.  An  Englishman  would  have  a  far 
better  chance.  They  won't  declare  infected 
cases,  either,  especially  in  families  where  they 
keep  par  da.  They're  afraid  of  our  insulting 
their  women.  It's  heartbreaking  work  trying  to 
save  an  Indian  from  himself,  whether  he's 
attacked  by  plague  or  by  famine.  I've  known 


THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN        157 

a  whole  village  wiped  out,  seven  hundred  of 
them  and  only  three  left  alive  out  of  the  lot, 
just  because  they  wouldn't  clear  out.  Their 
village  was  in  a  cleft  of  rock,  and  the  plague  ran 
through  like  wildfire.  We  could  stamp  out 
plague  at  once  if  we  dared  drive  the  folks  out 
of  their  villages  into  the  fields  at  the  first  sign 
of  infection,  and  then  burn  the  village  to  ashes. 
Akbar  or  any  of  their  old  Moghul  Johnnies  would 
have  done  it,  but  we  English  are  too  lily- 
fingered." 

"  Think  of  the  Radical  papers  at  home,"  said 
Riplingham. 

"  We  plague  officers  are  less  interfered  with 
than  most  Anglo-Indian  officials,  simply  because 
they  are  afraid  of  us  and  all  our  works.  Other- 
wise, I  should  figure  in  Truth  every  week  as 
an  awful  example  of  English  tyranny  ;  for,  of 
course,  I  conspire  as  hard  as  I  can  against 
the  rights  of  my  Indian  brother — his  right  to 
infect  his  neighbour  with  a  filthy  disease  like 
plague,  and  his  right  to  be  as  dangerous  after 
he  is  dead  as  when  he  is  alive." 

"  I  wonder  why  you  all  do  it,"  said  Eve 
suddenly  ;  "  why,  Denis  wears  himself  to  death 
over  famines,  and  you  spend  your  time  over 
horrid  research  work,  and  prowl  about  in  filthy 
villages." 

An  astonishing  sweetness  came  into  the 
Rat -Catcher's  smile  as  he  looked  towards  his 
hostess . 


158        THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN 

"  I  don't  want  to  be  blatant  or  even  too 
obvious,"  he  said,  "  but  a  certain  poet  who 
knows  far  more  of  India  than  you  or  I  sang* 
once  of  something  he  called  '  the  white  man's 
burden.'  We  don't  talk  about  it  overmuch,  but 
we've  got  to  shoulder  it.  Some  take  a  bigger 
share  than  others.  Your  husband  carries  a 
heavier  weight  than  any  man  I  know,  Mrs.  Lang. 
People  at  home  talk  of  high  pay,  but  no  pay 
could  compensate  for  some  work  that  I  know 
of.  I  don't  mean  that  we  come  out  from  home 
as  youngsters  full  of  high  and  noble  thoughts  ; 
but  as  we  go  on,  India  claims  us,  and  we  work 
for  something  else  than  pay." 

"  I  feel  rather  left  out,"  said  Riplingham  with 
a  lightness  that  relieved  the  tension.  "  What 
share  of  the  burden  do  we  soldier  men  assume?  " 

"  You  stand  by  to  guard  us  while  we  work," 
said  the  Rat-Catcher  with  a  laugh,  as  he  rose 
to  open  the  door  for  Eve,  who  passed  through 
with  a  whispered  word  to  Riplingham  not  to 
stay  long  in  the  dining-room. 

In  a  very  few  minutes,  even  before  Celia  had 
had  time  to  grow  restless,  the  men  appeared,  and 
Riplingham  sat  down  at  the  piano. 

Celia  chose  a  chair  where  she  could  see  him, 
and  he  sang  to  her  as  he  had  never  sung  in  his 
life  before.  The  futile  passion  of  drawing-room 
songs  took  on  a  palpitating  reality.  Once  more 
he  harped  her  soul  out  of  her  with  his  music. 
By  the  time  the  evening  was  over  and  he  rose 


THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN        159 

from  the  piano  at  last  she  was  a  mere  bundle 
of  nerves  vibrating  to  every  note. 

With  a  kindly  desire  to  give  the  two  a  moment 
for  goodbye  if  they  wished  it,  Eve  called  the 
Rat-Catcher  to  look  at  the  stars  from  the 
veranda.  Riplingham  stood  at  Celia's  side. 

"  Darling,"  he  breathed,  "  how  can  I  say 
goodbye  to  you  properly?  I  haven't  seen  you 
a  minute  alone,  and  I  want  to  kiss  your  sweet 
lips  again  and  feel  your  arms  round  me  once 
before  I  go." 

Celia  cast  a  quick  glance  at  the  two  backs 
visible  on  the  veranda. 

"  You  can't  with  them  here,"  she  said  rapidly. 
"  But  come  back.  Pretend  to  go  home,  and 
come  back  in  half  an  hour.  I've  given  my  room 
up  to  the  Rat-Catcher,  and  I've  got  the  little 
suite  beyond  the  dining-room.  It  is  away  from 
every  one.  I'll  sit  on  the  veranda  outside  my 
room  and  wait  for  you.  Go  up  round  the  road 
and  come  down  by  the  little  back  path." 

There  was  no  time  for  more.  Eve's  kindly 
impulse  did  not  last  long  in  the  chilly  air  outside. 
Besides,  she  thought  that  Riplingham  had 
avoided  Celia  lately,  and  was  glad  to  go  away. 

They  shook  hands  and  saw  Riplingham  off 
down  the  khud.  Fortunately  for  Celia's  plan  he 
had  sent  his  pony  away  when  he  arrived  and 
intended  to  walk  home.  In  a  few  minutes  all 
was  quiet  in  the  bungalow.  The  Rat -Catcher 
dreamed  of  rats ;  Eve  sank  into  a  confused  night- 


160        THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN 

mare  in  which  a  procession  of  men  passed  her, 
each  carrying  a  heavy  load.  When  Denis  came 
into  sight  she  looked  anxiously  to  see  the  nature 
of  his  burden,  and  found  to  her  disgust  it  was 
her  own  body.  Bowed  by  her  weight,  he 
staggered  past  her  without  a  word  in  reply  to 
her  eager  cries. 

Meantime,  curled  up  in  her  veranda  chair, 
Celia  waited  in  the  darkness.  In  the  room 
behind  her  the  lamplight  shone  on  the  simple 
appointments  of  her  girlish  room.  The  open 
door  showed  everything  in  an  oblong  of  light 
framed  in  the  black  shadows  of  the  veranda. 

Riplingham  saw  it  as  he  climbed  cautiously 
down  the  khud  to  keep  the  tryst  of  Celia's 
making. 


CHAPTER    XVIII 

RIPLINGHAM'S  mare  stumbled  on  a  slithering 
pebble.  He  jagged  her  mouth  so  fiercely  that 
the  surprised  beast  walked  several  steps  on  her 
hind  legs,  an  unhealthy  mode  of  progression  on 
a  hill  path.  His  wrath  sobered  while  he  patted 
the  pony  into  quiet  again  and  she  picked  her 
way  daintily  on  the  broken  steep. 

Riplingham  was  furiously  angry.  For  once  a 
woman  had  proved  herself  in  the  right.  Dis- 
regarding Ethel  Cunningham's  advice,  he  had 
trusted  to  his  own  experience  and  his  mistake 
appalled  him.  For  Celia  had  not  understood  one 
word  of  all  that  he  had  imputed  to  her,  and  now 
he  had  made  her  understand  only  too  well.  She 
had  meant  nothing  at  all  and  she  had  not  under- 
stood, until  it  was  too  late,  that  he  had  meant 
everything. 

Twenty  miles  of  the  stony,  precipitous  bridle 
path  lay  between  the  lake  and  the  railway  that 
ran  close  in  under  the  foot-hills.  Early  in  the 
morning  he  had  skirted  the  lake,  casting  one 
wrathful  glance  up  at  the  glinting  walls  of  Eve's 
bungalow.  Up  there  hi  that  tree -embowered 
cottage  last  night  he  had  thrown  away  his  free- 

11  161 


162        THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN 

dom  for  an  idle  pastime.  At  the  end  of  the 
lake  he  checked  his  mare  and  turned  to  fling 
a  disgusted  farewell  at  the  sleeping  station. 
Then  he  set  his  course  downwards,  and  the 
twenty  long  miles  were  embittered  by  repent- 
ance. 

For  Riplingham  had  his  own  code  of  honour 
of  a  curious  kind.  He  firmly  believed  that  all 
women  could  look  after  themselves,  and  that 
all  women  were  lawful  game.  If  they  were 
snared  it  was  their  own  look-out.  A  woman  was 
always  at  liberty  to  refuse  his  love-making  and 
dismiss  him  from  her  acquaintance.  It  must  be 
owned  that  if  she  exhibited  this  strength  of  mind 
he  accused  her  of  dullness  and  never  troubled  her 
again.  There  were  plenty  of  other  idle  women 
to  welcome  his  attentions.  Ethel  Cunningham 
had  been  the  one  exception  to  his  rule  of  life  ; 
he  had  permitted  her  to  arrange  their  manner 
of  friendship  instead  of  fixing  the  terms  of  it 
himself.  For  years  she  had  proved  a  restful 
interlude  between  various  episodes. 

But  this  last  episode — here  was  no  woman  who 
risked  what  she  knew,  he  had  blundered  into  the 
ignorance  of  a  mere  baby.  He  had  realised 
that  as  he  stole  away  in  black  shame  down  the 
little  khud  path  last  night.  Each  mile  of  the 
steep  twenty  brought  the  realisation  more  sharply 
to  his  busy  mind.  Back  over  their  acquaintance 
he  ranged  as  his  little  brown  mare  slid  ,and 
slithered  downwards.  He  saw  that  he  had  been 


THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN        163 

taken  at  a  disadvantage  after  his  long  spell  of 
duty  as  A.D.C.  For  months  he  had  been 
chained  by  Lady  Kendall's  pocket-handkerchief, 
weighted  by  her  little  silk  bag,  bound  to 
diffuse  his  smiles  equally  on  all  his  Lieutenant  - 
Governor's  guests. 

When  he  returned  from  Bombay,  a  free  man, 
Celia  had  been  there  ready  with  her  alluring 
nonsense  and  fresh  youth.  Different  in  appear- 
ance from  those  other  women  who  had  been  kind 
to  him,  she  must  be  of  like  mind  and  thought 
with  them.  So  he  had  believed,  and  his  stupid 
belief  had  brought  tragedy— tragedy  not  for  her 
but  for  himself.  Of  course  he  must  marry  her 
now.  His  sense  of  honour  demanded  it  ;  he  must 
pay  like  a  man  for  his  own  mistake.  Celia 
was  everything  he  did  not  want  in  a  wife.  She 
had  no  money,  no  position,  nothing  but  her 
young  prettiness  and  a  complexion  of  the  type 
that  fades  very  soon  in  India. 

It  was  time  he  married.  He  could  afford  it, 
but  he  had  not  intended  to  marry  in  India.  At 
home  this  year— he  remembered  the  handsome 
daughter  of  the  man  who  owned  the  place  next 
to  his  own  people  down  in  the  country.  The 
thought  of  her,  as  he  had  seen  her  on  his  last 
leave,  had  lent  an  attraction  to  his  trip  this 
year.  But  now  all  that  was  over  ;  his  fate  was 
a  stupid  little  pink  and  white  girl  who  had  made 
a  fool  of  him  through  her  own  foolishness. 

The  miles  grew  hot  as  well  as  stony.     Fire 


164        THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN 

seemed  to  rise  from  the  furnace  of  the  plains 
growing  nearer  at  every  pace.  He  dismounted  at 
last  in  a  fume  of  heat  and  wrath  and  stalked 
into  the  tiny  railway-station,  where  the  shuttered 
train  stood  blistering  in  the  sun. 

He  had  spent  his  journey  time  up  till  now 
reviewing  the  past.  As  the  train  blundered 
through  the  endless  level  miles  of  darkness  he 
lay  on  his  green-leather  berth  and  made  plans 
for  the  future.  He  must  write  to  Celia  from 
Bombay.  That  would  be  a  difficult  letter.  He 
had  no  faith  in  the  girl's  discretion  ;  a  freak 
of  memory  told  him  that  she  still  insisted  on 
pockets  and  sent  her  skirts  to  the  wash  stuffed 
with  treasures  for  a  dhobi  to  ransack.  Witlj 
blatant  honesty  the  washerman  would  bring  back 
letters  to  Eve.  They  had  no  exchange  value  in 
the  bazar,  but  a  forgotten  scrap  of  paper  might 
ruin  Riplingham  if  it  contained  any  word  of  the 
plain  truth  of  last  night's  episode. 

He  composed  the  letter  in  his  head  as  the 
weary  night  clattered  by.  He  had  no  hope  of 
her  refusal,  and  the  hot  day  that  followed  was 
made  yet  more  uncomfortable  by  his  angry 
thoughts.  Fortunately,  there  were  but  few 
people  travelling  to  the  coast  at  that  time  of 
year,  and  he  had  the  compartment  to  himself. 
The  train  rattled  through  the  dun  world  and 
shook  as  only  an  Indian  train  can.  In  the  roof 
of  his  furnace-like  saloon  a  futile  electric  fan 
buzzed  and  whirred.  At  intervals  he  climbed 


THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN        165 

down  to  a  red-hot  platform  and  swung  himself 
into  the  dining-car  that  jolted  dizzily  at  the  end 
of  the  train.  The  desert  silted  in  so  that  an 
inch  of  dust  lay  thick  on  everything,  and  Rip- 
lingham's  hands  and  face  grew  comically  black. 
Of  course  the  water  in  the  bath-room  soon  failed. 
Physically  and  mentally  he  had  never  been  so 
uncomfortable  in  his  life. 

At  last  came  Bombay  and  a  cool,  airy  room 
high  up  in  the  hotel  that  looked  out  over  the 
sea.  Much  hot  water  restored  to  him  his  self- 
respect  of  body,  and  presently  he  sat  down  to 
write  self-respect  back  into  his  mind. 

The  letter  to  Celia  was  written  at  last.  If 
it  were  mislaid  and  seen  by  any  one  else,  the 
verdict  passed  upon  it  would  be  nothing  worse 
than  a  smile  at  such  a  cold,  matter-of-fact  lover. 
With  chilly  exactness  he  told  her  of  his  prospects 
and  requested  the  honour  of  her  hand.  He 
would  do  his  best  to  make  her  happy. 

With  a  shrug  he  dropped  his  death-warrant, 
as  he  styled  it,  into  the  hotel  letter-box.  There 
was  no  time  to  get  a  reply  before  he  sailed. 
He  might  have  telegraphed,  but  he  shrank  from 
the  absurdity  of  such  an  action.  As  it  was, 
the  Langs  would  think  it  extraordinary  that  he 
had  proposed  to  Celia  by  letter  when  he  had 
the  opportunities  of  so  many  idle  days.  Perhaps 
Celia  would  have  the  sense  to  proclaim  their 
engagement  to  be  of  several  days'  standing,  but 
he  hardly  expected  it,  she  was  really  too  stupid 


166        THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN 

to  think  of  protecting  herself  against  surprised 
comment . 

The  thought  of  his  entanglement  spoiled  the 
voyage.  There  were  very  few  ladies  on  board, 
for  the  dreaded  monsoon  was  blowing,  but  even 
from  these  he  held  aloof,  to  their  petulant  dis- 
appointment. One  at  least  of  them  knew  of  his 
reputation  and  promised  herself  an  exciting 
voyage.  She  referred  to  Riplingham  ever  after- 
wards as  "  that  most  overrated  man." 

A  week  after  he  landed  Celia's  reply  followed 
and  caught  him  up.  He  read  it  with  relief 
fighting  astonishment  in  his  mind,  for  the  girl 
refused  him  in  definite  words. 

"  I  will  not  marry  you,"  she  wrote,  "  because 
I  know  that  you  do  not  love  me.  I  thought  you 
did  once,  but  it  was  all  a  mistake.  You  need 
not  be  afraid  ;  I  don't  want  to  marry  you,  and 
I  will  not  tell.  I  have  been  wondering  if  all 
men  are  like  you,  but  I  don't  think  they  <can 
be.  Of  course  it  was  my  fault,  but  I  didn't 
know  any  better.  I  hope  I  shall  never  meet  you 
any  more." 

The  neat,  childish  round-hand  stretched  evenly. 
over  the  unblotted  sheets.  She  had  written 
without  any  visible  signs  of  emotion.  He  was 
glad  that  she  had  taken  it  so  well,  and  yet  such 
coldness  seemed  unnatural.  He  read  it  a  second 
time  with  a  swift  shock  of  regret  at  the  thought 
of  her  slain  childhood.  This  time  his  repent- 
ance was  not  for  his  own  discomfort. 


THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN        167 

When,  after  a  decent  interval  of  time  for  his 
secret  mourning,  he  rode  over  to  begin  his 
courtship  of  the  pretty  neighbour,  he  went  with 
a  humble  mind.  He  had  learnt  something 
from  Celia's  ignorance— to  distrust  his  own 
omniscience  concerning  women.  Henceforth  he 
would  not  regard  them  in  the  crude  guise  of 
mere  prey  for  idle  hunters.  He  burnt  the  poor 
little  letter  at  once,  but  the  spirit  of  it  went 
with  him  to  the  end  of  his  life.  Celia  had 
wrought  better  than  she  knew  for  certain  other 
women  hi  the  world. 


CHAPTER    XIX 

DENIS  took  leave  when  the  tardy  rains  sent  the 
villagers  back  from  the  unfinished  road  to  their 
own  fields.  He  journeyed  up  to  the  hills  gaunt 
from  under-indulgence  in  goat  chops,  and 
hollow-eyed  from  gazing  over  the  dun  cruelty 
of  a  barren  plain.  His  coming  caused  a  certain 
readjustment  in  life  at  the  little  hill  bungalow, 
for  Eve  was  no  longer  free  to  spend  idle  hours 
afloat  on  the  lake  with  Staniforth.  The  society 
of  the  hill  quarters  of  Government  was  official, 
and  now  that  her  husband  was  in  evidence  the 
two  were  bidden  to  a  long  round  of  dinners 
and  garden-parties  at  which  it  was  necessary 
to  appear  together.  Denis  had  not  even  work 
to  serve  as  an  excuse  for  refusing  engagements, 
for  files  were  banished  and  he  was  taking  a 
complete  rest  after  his  months  of  toil. 

Celia  was  rather  a  care  to  both  of  them.  A 
little  to  their  surprise  she  had  made  no  girl 
friends.  They  expected  a  child  of  her  youthfully 
emotional  type  to  have  half  a  dozen  feminine 
admirers,  but  her  affair  with  Riplingham 
hindered  all  excursions  in  this  direction. 

Now  Riplingham  had  gone  home  and  Celia 


THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN        169 

wandered  about  with  a  lost  air.  She  could  not 
always  go  with  husband  and  wife,  and  Eve  took 
to  arranging  for  Staniforth's  escort  when  a 
companion  for  the  child  was  needed. 

"  You'll  do  this  for  me?  "  she  pleaded  when 
her  squire  seemed  likely  to  turn  restive.  "  Look 
after  her  for  me,  and  when  I  have  more  time 
I'll  go  out  with  you  as  much  as  you  like." 

He  consented  with  an  ill  grace  which  warmed 
her  heart,  yet  he  was  not  really  unwilling  to  gain 
better  acquaintance  of  Celia.  He  was  keen  to 
understand  what  a  man  like  Riplingham  had 
seen  in  the  child,  and  his  memory  still  held 
fragmentary  rumours  of  her  strange  topics  of 
conversation. 

Now  Celia  had  plucked  her  apple  and  found 
its  taste  disappointing.  Her  eyes  were  open, 
too  widely  for  a  child,  and  she  had  understood 
suddenly  the  meaning  and  the  ugliness  of  the 
passion  she  had  spoken  of  in  ignorance.  Her 
new  knowledge  drove  her  headlong  into  the 
opposite  extreme  of  coldness.  She  seemed  to 
Staniforth  to  be  intensely  virginal.  Once  when 
his  hand  fell  on  hers  and  played  with  a  turquoise 
ring  she  wore  he  noticed  that  she  pulled  her 
fingers  away  with  a  shiver  of  unfeigned  repul- 
sion. He  could  not  know  that  the  action  recalled 
the  first  step  of  her  journey  from  childhood, 
and  liked  her  the  better  for  a  coldness  he  had 
not  expected  to  find. 

Her  emotional  faculties  had  died  down  like 


170        THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN 

scorched  weeds.  They  might  spring  again  in 
time,  but  for  the  present  her  intellect  began 
to  work  unchoked  by  tares.  Thus  she  was  a 
far  more  interesting  companion  to  Staniforth 
than  she  had  been  to  Riplingham. 

She  was  ever  an  eager  listener,  and  now  that 
she  craved  no  more  to  hear  lessons  of  love, 
she  began  to  collect  information  on  all  manner 
of  subjects  connected  chiefly  with  the  open  air. 
Soon  there  was  no  keener  spectator  of  the  polo 
down  at  the  Flats,  and  Staniforth  took  up  his 
game  again  with  the  more  zest  that  a  pink- 
flushed  face  watched  him  eagerly  from  the 
spectators'  chairs.  Eve  hated  watching  games 
even  more  than  she  detested  playing  them,  so 
he  had  had  to  choose  between  her  society  and 
his  polo.  Now  he  had  some  one  to  admire 
him,  some  one  who  could  discuss  the  match 
with  him  afterwards  at  tea  on  the  boathouse 
veranda  when  Eve  delayed  to  join  them  until 
Denis  disappeared  into  the  bridge-room. 

There  was  no  solitude  in  the  packed  and 
clattering  veranda  that  overhung  the  lake  ; 
indeed,  there  was  hardly  room  to  move  between 
the  crowded  tea-tables.  Staniforth  found  him- 
self back  in  a  world  of  men  again  after  his 
prolonged  dallying  by  Eve's  side,  and  though  he 
protested  his  weariness  in  the  few  snatched 
moments  they  achieved  together,  he  began  almost 
insensibly  to  rejoice  in  a  new  spirit  of  freedom. 

Eve  applauded  his   patience  and  encouraged 


THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN        171 

Celia's  discipleship,  and  it  was  left  to  Mrs. 
Cunningham  to  recall  an  earlier  speech  of  Mrs. 
Young's,  and  to  plant  a  fresh  seed  of  doubt 
in  her  untroubled  mind. 

An  attack  of  fever  in  the  rains  persuaded 
Ethel  to  desert  her  husband  for  a  week  or  two 
and  accept  the  shelter  of  the  Langs'  hill 
bungalow.  Her  gay  tongue  rattled  through  the 
hours,  and  she  was  able  to  include  even  Denis 
in  her  discussions  on  life  and  morals. 

They  sat  together  one  morning  at  breakfast. 
Glass  doors  opened  on  to  a  wooden  veranda 
bright  with  fuchsias  in  green  tubs  ;  between  the 
supporting  pillars  lay  green  glimpses  of  a  khud- 
side  aflaunt  with  single  dahlias.  Far  below,  a 
corner  of  the  lake,  as  yet  untouched  by  the 
climbing  sun,  showed  the  opaque  green  of 
malachite  set  in  the  brighter  jade  green  of  the 
tree-clad  cliff  that  rose  sheer  from  the  water. 

Ethel  gazed  at  the  green  distances  with  tired 
but  happy  eyes. 

"  Thank  God  for  green  1  "  she  said.  "  You 
understand,  Mr.  Lang,  don't  you?  But  your 
wife  can't  realise  the  beauty  of  green  since  she 
hasn't  seen  June  in  the  plains,  when  you  can't 
even  wear  a  green  frock  as  a  contrast  to  a 
khaki  world.  I  used  to  sleep  put  in  the  com- 
pound under  a  gallows  erection  that  carried  a 
punkah .  And  night  after  night  I  dreamed  of  ferns 
and  running  brooks.  Frequently  I  woke  to  find 
a  dust  storm  in  progress  and  had  to  fly  to  the 


172        THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN 

house  in  my  nightie,  clasping  my  pillows  and 
whatever  else  I  could  retrieve  from  the  general 
wreck.  You  don't  know  dust  storms,  Mrs.  Lang. 
It  means  pitch  darkness  and  a  howling  wind 
that  blows  out  every  light,  and  the  air  full  of 
dust  devils.  You  spend  the  day  after  a  dust- 
storm  washing  your  hair  and  your  bungalow 
indiscriminately ." 

"  >Were  there  many  women  down  this  hot 
weather?  "  inquired  Eve. 

"  Half  a  dozen.  We  sit  outside  in  the  Club 
compound  under  the  electric  fans  and  compare 
thermometer  readings  and  our  daily  consumption 
of  ice.  The  hot  weather  is  worse  for  a  woman 
than  for  a  man  because  she  has  nerves  and  hair 
and  no  work." 

"  Hair?  "  inquired  Eve. 

"  Yes,  hair.  You  see,  one's  hair  is  often  as 
wet  as  if  one  had  washed  it,  and  when  one  tries 
to  coil  it,  it  sticks  to  a  wet  arm  and  hand. 
Wet  with  sweat,  you  know.  Forgive  my 
vulgarity,  but  '  perspiration  '  is  too  delicate  a 
word  to  use  in  June." 

"  What  do  you  do  all  day?  " 

"  I  ride  at  six,  gently,  and  the  house  is  closed 
and  darkened  when  I  get  back  before  eight. 
And  I  am  parda  till  nearly  sunset." 

"What  a  life  I  "  ejaculated  Eve.  "I'm  so 
glad  Denis  doesn't  want  me  to  stay  down  in  the 
plains.  You  are  a  brave  woman." 

Ethel  smiled  a  little  grimly.     She  knew  the 


THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN        173 

value  of  her  presence  to  her  husband,  knew  how 
it  made  the  servants  work  better,  rendering  the 
hot-weather  meals  less  hateful.  She  was  never 
too  tired  to  put  on  a  fresh  white  frock  at  tea- 
time  and  welcome  her  man's  return  from  office. 
As  the  men  sacrifice  health  and  time  to  give 
good  measure  running  over  in  return  for  the 
pay  they  earn  hardly  enough,  so  the  women  too 
bring  their  little  offering,  comic  enough,  for  it 
means  but  a  ruined  complexion,  a  wrinkled  pair 
of  eyes  and  faded  hair,  small  things  that  rack 
a  feminine  heart  and  may  perhaps  count  for 
something  in  the  final  reckoning.  Much,  one 
would  think,  can  be  forgiven  the  woman  who  has 
fought  and  conquered  an  Indian  June. 

"Mrs.  Evans  has  written  a  book,"  went  on 
Ethel.  "  She  had  to  do  something  to  justify 
her  existence.  A  woman  as  plain  as  she  is 
has  simply  got  to  be  clever  or  amusing.  I 
think  she  intends  to  be  merely  scandalous  from 
what  she  told  me  of  the  book.  She  wrote  it  in 
the  hot  weather  when  no  woman  can  trust  her 
nerves,  and  I  believe  we  all  figure  luridly 
in  it,  and  that  her  husband  is  resigned  to 
spending  the  rest  of  his  days  fighting  libel 
actions." 

"  I  rather  sympathise  with  Evans,"  put  in 
Denis . 

Ethel  nodded. 

"  Yes,  it's  awfully  uncomfortable  for  a  man  to 
be  married  to  an  authoress,"  she  said,  "  especially 


174        THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN 

if  she  writes  naughty  books.  I  knew  a  shocking 
case  once.  The  man  had  proposed  in  a  few 
ill-chosen  words  by  broad  daylight  on  the  East- 
bourne promenade,  with  the  band  playing  some- 
thing horrible  in  the  way  of  a  music-hall  song. 
Then  when  his  wife  began  to  write  impassioned 
love  scenes  he  knew  he  hadn't  furnished  any 
copy  and  wondered  who  had.  He  used  to  pick 
them  out  of  each  new  novel  she  wrote  and  brood 
over  them,  and  try  to  identify  the  passionate 
heroes  with  all  the  men  he  knew.  Finally  things 
got  so  bad  that  for  the  sake  of  peace  she  gave 
up  writing  novels  and  took  to  doing  stories  for 
girls,  the  kind  where  the  sweet  young  thing  of 
eighteen  finds  she  has  been  in  love  for  months 
with  her  grey-haired  old  guardian  and  never 
knew  it,  and  marries  him  in  a  chastened  state  of 
holy  joy,  and  blushes  purple  with  awful  shame 
a  year  later  when  she  has  to  whisper  the 
embarrassing  news  that  there's  to  be  a  baby 
in  two  months  only  she  didn't  like  to  tell  him 
before,  and  of  course  he  never  guessed." 

Here  she  was  fortunately  obliged  to  stop  to 
take  breath. 

"  .Which  paid  best?  "  asked  Denis  gravely. 

"  Oh,  the  girly  stories,  by  far,  because  all 
parents  and  aunts  and  governesses  bought  them 
for  Christmas  and  birthday  presents.  You  don't 
buy  a  naughty  book,  you  get  it  out  of  the  library . 
You  see,  the  only  time  you  think  of  buying  a 
book  is  when  you're  going  on  a  railway  journey, 


THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN        175 

and  then  you  don't  like  being  seen  with  a  very 
awful  and  well-known  novel.  My  friend 
realised  this,  and  though  she  moaned  a  lot  at 
first  about  art  for  art's  sake  she  grew  reconciled 
when  the  cheques  came  in,  and  her  husband  was 
never  jealous  of  the  grey-haired  guardian — he 
was  always  such  a  very  sloshy  character,  and  he 
knew  his  wife  hated  slosh  in  men  as  much  as 
he  hated  bread  and  butter  in  women." 

"  I  think  India  gives  one  rather  a  taste  for 
bread  and  butter,"  remarked  Denis.  "  What's 
the  first  thing  you  demand  when  you  go  home  on 
leave?  Bread  and  butter,  of  course,  and  very 
good  it  is  after  the  sour  grey  stuff  India  pro- 
vides. Often  and  often,  when  I  was  feeding  on 
goat  chops  and  drinking  hot  soda-water  in  my 
district  while  the  famine  was  on,  I  had  visions 
of  the  Dover  refreshment -rooms  and  my  first 
plate  of  bread  and  butter." 

"  I  suppose  you  mean  to  insinuate  that  Eve 
and  I  represent  the  famine  goat  chops  of  this 
life,  and  girls  like  Celia  the  Dover  bread  and 
butter,"  grumbled  Ethel,  "  and  that  bread  and 
butter  is  infallibly  more  appetising  to  men  out 
here.  Well,  here  comes  some  one  who  looks  as 
if  he  shared  your  opinion." 

Celia  and  Staniforth  passed  between  the 
veranda  arches,  returning  late  from  a  morning 
walk  which  was  a  work  of  supererogation  on  his 
part  and  not  arranged  in  Eve's  programme.  The 
child  ran  in  with  her  arms  full  of  single  dahlias. 


176        THE   UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN 

She  was  muddy  and  dishevelled,  but  youth  tri- 
umphant shone  in  her  eyes. 

"  .We've  been  scrambling  up  khuds  and  pic'k- 
ing  flowers  for  you,"  she  proclaimed. 

"  You  needn't  have  troubled,  the  jhampanis 
do  it  quite  well,"  said  Eve  coldly.  "And  why 
drag  Captain  Staniforth  up  and  down  khuds?  " 

"Drag  him!"  protested  Celia.  "He  liked 
it  ;  he  asked  me  to  go  again,  didn't  you?  " 
Her  appeal  to  her  escort  seemed  to  pass 
unheeded,  for  he  was  paying  belated  homage 
to  Eve  and  craving  her  indulgence  and  break- 
fast. He  succeeded  in  dispelling  her  annoyance 
after  a  few  moments,  in  which  he  had  glances 
only  for  her,  and  Celia  showed  too  healthy  an 
interest  in  breakfast  to  need  attention  from  any 
one  but  khitmatgars. 

But  the  earlier  mischief  had  been  set  working, 
and  Ethel  blamed  herself  fiercely  for  a  too  ready 
tongue . 

"  I'm  a  babbling  fool,"  she  told  herself  as  she 
stepped  out  on  to  the  veranda.  "  And  I  seem 
to  have  got  that  owl  of  a  Celia  on  my  brain. 
First  I  try  to  play  Providence  between  her  and 
Captain  Riplingham.  That  has  cured  me  of 
speaking  to  people  for  their  good.  Now  too 
much  hot -weather  silence  has  driven  me  into 
idiotic  speeches  about  bread  and  butter  to  a 
woman  who  passed  the  stage  a  dozen  years  ago." 
She  snapped  off  a  fuchsia  and  twirled  it  idly 
in  her  fingers.  Presently  Denis  joined  her  with 


THE   UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN        177 

his    pipe,    and    they    leaned    together    over    the 
wooden  railing  that  edged  the  veranda. 

"  I  shall  be  sorry  to  leave  all  this,"  he  said, 
waving  his  pipe  at  the  landscape,  "  but  I  must 
go  down  next  week." 

"  So  soon,"  she  returned,  wondering  if  his 
going  would  be  in  time  to  check  Staniforth  on 
his  new  path.  Of  course,  theoretically,  it  would 
be  a  good  thing  for  the  man  to  free  himself 
from  an  entanglement  with  a  married  woman  and 
turn  back  to  youth  and  innocence.  But  she 
remembered  Eve's  expression  at  her  unlucky 
speech  over  the  breakfast  table,  and  felt  that 
theories  were  apt  to  fail  in  the  case  of  women 
one  liked. 

.When  the  belated  meal  was  over  at  last  Eve's 
face  showed  quite  serene,  and  she  turned  to  her 
housekeeping  duties  with  her  usual  calmly 
detached  air.  Celia  went  off  to  change  her 
soiled  gown,  Staniforth  disappeared  to  his 
quarters,  while  stretched  in  long  chairs  on  the 
veranda  Denis  and  Mrs.  Cunningham  rejoiced 
because  the  world  was  ,green .  They  spoke  little, 
Denis  because  he  was  a  man  of  few  words, 
and  Ethel  because  she  respected  his  silence  and 
also  because  she  thought  her  tongue  had  done 
enough  execution  for  one  day. 

Once  he  broke  the  silence. 

"  ."VVihat  are  you  reading?  "  he  questioned  with 
a  glance  at  the  slim  volume  she  held. 

"  Poetry.  Aren't  you  surprised?   Poetry  about 
12 


178        THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN 

Nature  too,  to  a  great  extent.  As  a  matter  of 
fact,  in  my  present  state  of  bliss  at  being  away 
from  the  plains  I  keep  on  reading  one  line  over 
and  over  again.  It's  this  :  '  Ere  I  have  thanked 
my  God  for  all  the  grass.'  " 

Denis  smiled  across  at  her. 

"  It's  worth  while  staying  down  when  the 
plains  teach  you  lessons  like  that  about  the  hills," 
he  said  gently. 


CHAPTER    XX 

DENIS  went  back  to  the  plains  and  Mrs. 
Cunningham  soon  followed  him.  In  Eve's  mind 
worked  plans  for  compensating  Staniforth's 
docile  behaviour,  but  the  weather  was  against 
her.  The  rains  had  dallied  in  their  breaking, 
giving  long  intervals  of  dry  brightness  between 
days  of  storm,  but  when  August  was  well  begun 
the  monsoon  showed  its  real  power.  Day  after 
day  the  rain  thundered  on  the  roof  and  fre- 
quently trickled  through  it.  Beyond  the  veranda 
arches  the  eye  descried  nothing  but  a  sea  of 
swirling  mist  that  blotted  out  the  world.  If  it 
cleared  at  evening  they  made  a  dash  for  the 
boathouse,  borne  in  their  dandies  by  grunting 
coolies  who  smelt  disagreeably  of  wet  blankets. 
Otherwise  they  spent  long  days  in  the  damp 
and  depressing  bungalow. 

Polo  was  impossible,  and,  weary  of  inaction, 
Staniforth  often  splashed  his  way  up  the  stream- 
ing paths  and  sat  in  front  of  Eve's  drawing- 
room  fire.  Presently  he  found  himself  resenting 
Celia's  habit  of  retiring  to  the  nursery  to  play 
with  Dicky  on  these  occasions.  At  the  slightest 
rift  in  the  clouds  he  would  invade  that  room 


180        THE   UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN 

and  carry  her  off  for  a  walk,  from  which  they 
invariably  returned  dripping  but  with  brightened 
spirits. 

Eve  hated  rain,  and  never  possessed  a  pair  of 
thick  shoes  to  cope  with  it,  but  Celia's  magnifi- 
cent disregard  for  weather  carried  her  rejoicing 
through  the  worst  storm.  The  only  concession 
the  two  made  to  Eve's  climatic  prejudices  was 
that  they  never  started  when  it  was  actually 
raining,  but  always  alleged  the  existence  of  a 
patch  of  blue  sky  through  a  hole  in  the  mist. 
Five  minutes  later  the  rain  might  come  down 
in  torrents,  but  they  always  argued  that  once 
wet  one  might  as  well  go  on  ;  to  turn  back 
would  be  absurd. 

Celia  was  changed,  her  crude  childishness 
merged  into  a  kind  of  gracious  youthfulness  that 
was  full  of  charm.  Looking  at  her  sometimes, 
Eve  marvelled  at  the  difference  wrought  in  her 
in  the  short  month's  space.  She  attributed  some 
of  it  to  Riplingham's  forming  influence,  and 
wondered  why  the  girl  felt  his  absence  so  little. 
He  did  not  even  write  to  her  after  a  thick  letter 
which  had  borne  the  Bombay  post -mark.  Celia 
had  taken  it  to  her  room,  where  she  had  spent 
the  whole  morning  alone.  When  she  joined 
Eve  at  tiffin  there  were  signs  of  tears  about  her 
eyes  and  her  voice  was  flat  and  dull,  but  she 
had  never  said  a  word  about  the  letter  and  Eve 
had  not  liked  to  invite  an  unoffered  confidence. 
That  week  Celia  posted  her  home  letters  herself, 


THE   UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN        181 

and  afterwards  showed  no  increase  of  interest  in 
the  arrival  of  the  English  mail.  To  all  appear- 
ance Riplinghain  had  passed  out  of  her  life 
unregretted . 

Her  treatment  of  her  new  companion  was 
quite  impersonal.  She  welcomed  him  as  a 
deliverer  from  a  wet  day  indoors,  and  listened 
gladly  to  his  monologues  on  sport  without 
obtruding  a  glint  of  her  own  personality. 

Youth  seemed  her  chief  characteristic  in  this 
wet  month  when  social  gaieties  languished,  and 
he  saw  her  always  in  short  skirts,  playing  on 
the  floor  with  Dicky,  who  adored  her,  or  spring- 
ing up  the  khud  side  with  an  untrammelled  gait 
and  joyous  brow. 

The  weather  which  suited  Celia  was  hard  on 
Eve,  who  wilted  for  want  of  fresh  air,  and  yet 
would  not  brave  the  dripping  khud  side  to  find 
it.  Again,  the  waves  of  her  dark  hair  were 
achieved  by  a  skill  which  could  not  withstand 
the  sodden  atmosphere,  and  now  fell  in  straight 
and  unpleasing  lines.  One  was  not  wont  to 
think  of  years  in  connection  with  Eve  >  Stani- 
forth  knew  that  she  must  be  over  thirty,  but  he 
never  formulated  his  thoughts  until  he  saw  her 
side  by  side  with  her  cousin  one  afternoon. 

Eve  was  just  a  little  bit  irritable,  and  her 
golden  voice,  ever  one  of  her  chief  charms,  held 
almost  a  rasping  quality  as  she  welcomed  them 
back  from  one  of  their  afternoon  rambles. 

"  I  see  you  haven't  got  wet  to-day,"  she  said 


182        THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN 

a  little  acidly,  "  but  Celia  looks  rather  like 
Dicky's  gollywog  doll."  Celia  sprang  to  a  silver 
mirror  on  a  side  table  and  ran  her  fingers 
through  the  silky  mop  of  fuzzing  hair. 

"It  is  rather  awful,  but  forgive  it,  Eve  ;  I 
do  feel  so  well  and  jolly."  She  did,  indeed, 
look  the  incarnation  of  joyous  young  health, 
and  Staniforth,  glancing  at  Eve,  was  guilty  of  a 
moment's  disloyalty,  for  the  thought  flashed 
that  his  divinity's  complexion  looked  distinctly 
yellow. 

"  I  feel  a  mere  worm,"  said  Eve.  "  I  wish 
we  could  go  back  to  the  plains,  but  if  we  did 
we  should  be  worried  to  death  with  insects  and 
beasts  of  every  description,  and  then  the  rain 
would  stop  and  we  should  get  fever." 

"  You  couldn't  possibly  go  back  yet,"  said 
Staniforth  quickly.  "  September  is  the  un- 
healthiest  month  of  the  year  down  below.  The 
rain  must  stop  soon.  In  the  meantime,  why 
not  brave  it  sometimes?  You  must  feel  lonely 
stuffed  up  in  here  all  day.  You've  made  it  look 
awfully  nice  with  all  the  pretty  things  you 
brought  up  yourself,  but  after  all  it  is  only  a 
hired  bungalow  and  not  like  your  own  house. 
Promise  to  come  out  to-morrow,  wet  or  fine." 

But  Eve  refused  to  promise  ;  when  to-morrow 
and  to-morrow  again  came  with  a  renewed 
downpour  she  would  not  hear  of  going  out,  but 
sat  indoors  nursing  a  cold  in  her  head  which  still 
further  detracted  from  her  beauty.  Staniforth 


THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN        183 

felt  a  wave  of  positive  dislike  come  over  him 
when  Celia  allowed  herself  to  be  led  away  by 
Dicky,  and  he  was  left  tete-a-tete  with  a  swollen- 
nosed  goddess  who  expected  him  to  make  love 
to  her  between  her  sneezes. 

There  was  no  walk  that  afternoon,  for  the  rain 
never  ceased  to  thunder  on  the  corrugated  iron 
roof.  Eve's  cold  demanded  shut  windows,  and 
the  little  drawing-room  seemed  intolerably 
stuffy.  There  was  nothing  to  talk  about,  even 
gossip  failed  them,  for  no  news  had  penetrated 
the  mist  wall  for  several  days.  Hitherto  they 
had  never  found  the  hours  too  long,  for  he  had 
talked  of  her  perfections  and  she  had  listened 
graciously.  But  to-day,  alas  I  Eve  looked  very 
plain .  Her  hair  was  flattened,  her  skin  yellowish 
and  rather  lined,  while  her  eyes  were  dull  with 
cold.  A  man's  memory  for  beauty  is  short- 
lived. He  forgot  the  loveliness  he  had  praised 
a  short  month  ago,  and  thought  only  of  her 
present  plainness.  For  her  part,  Eve  felt 
worried  and  not  at  her  best.  Jealousy  of  her 
cousin  tormented  her  at  times,  though,  woman- 
like, she  would  never  believe  her  own  reign  over 
until  the  man  should  put  his  weariness  into  plain 
words. 

A  protracted  silence  got  on  her  nerves. 
Staniforth  smoked  a  pipe  sulkily  and  wondered 
why  Celia  would  have  nothing  to  do  with  him 
indoors.  Eve  played  with  a  bit  of  fancy  work 
and  wished  tea-time  would  come,  or  that  he 


184        THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN 

would  put  away  that  abominable  pipe  and  make 
discreet  love  by  her  sofa.  At  last  her  irrita- 
tion found  vent  in  speech. 

"  Have  I  annoyed  you  in  any  way?  "  she 
asked,  "or  is  it  only  the  weather  that  makes 
you  so  dull?  We  don't  seem  to  have  so  much 
to  say  to  each  other  as  we  did." 

He  knocked  out  the  ashes  of  his  pipe  into  the 
grate.  How  fond  women  were  of  trying  to 
define  situations  in  crude  words  1  It  was  so 
much  better  to  drift  quietly  out  of  uncomfort- 
able positions  instead  of  calling  each  other  to 
witness  their  discomfort.  For  the  first  time  he 
owned  frankly  that  he  was  growing  tired  of 
Eve,  but  he  thought  it  bad  taste  in  her  to  force 
him  to  such  an  uncomfortable  conclusion. 

Such  thoughts  sped  through  his  brain  as  he 
tended  his  pipe  with  exaggerated  care.  When 
he  straightened  his  back  again  he  was  ashamed 
of  his  unbidden  thoughts  of  disloyalty.  He 
crossed  the  hearthrug  and  knelt  by  her  sofa, 
kissing  her  with  the  gentle  fervour  she 
permitted. 

"  Dear  lady,"  he  said,  "  if  I  seem  strange  and 
dull  and  unloving  it  is  only  your  fault.  You 
give  me  no  hope  of  anything  further.  Are  we  to 
go  on  like  this  indefinitely,  seeing  each  other, 
loving  each  other,  until  the  regiment  is  trans- 
ferred and  it  is  all  over?  Is  our  love  episode 
just  to  fade  out  of  existence  instead  of  being 
crowned  as  you  can  crown  it?  " 


THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN        185 

As  he  spoke  he  was  afraid  with  a  deadly  fear 
that  she  might  give  a  definite  meaning  to  his 
idle  words,  but  he  was  soon  reassured.  Eve 
believed  he  was  suggesting  an  elopement,  and 
though  her  heart  thrilled  at  this  new  evidence 
of  the  unfading  character  of  his  love  she  was  not 
the  sort  of  woman  to  dream  that  such  a  solution 
of  their  affair  was  possible. 

Gently  she  disengaged  herself  from  his 
enlacing  arms.  Mournfully  she  looked  into  his 
pleading  eyes. 

"  I  don't  think  you  really  meant  to  insult 
me,"  she  said,  "  and  I  suppose  that  by  allowing 
you  to  kiss  me  I  have  deserved  this,  but  you 
must  know  I  could  never  leave  my  husband  and 
Dicky  and  disgrace  everybody.  I  think  until 
you  feel  wiser  we  had  better  not  meet  alone." 

She  meant  it  for  a  punishment,  meant  to  bring 
him  to  his  knees.  She  could  not  know  that  he 
welcomed  his  sentence  as  a  respite.  It  was 
abominably  difficult  to  make  love  just  because 
the  woman  expected  it,  and  he  hoped  she  would 
not  forgive  him  too  soon.  Life  was  much  easier 
when  he  was  expected  to  wear  an  air  of  melan- 
choly and  talk  to  her  in  Celia's  presence. 

At  last  the  rain  ceased  and  she  forgave  him, 
for  she  did  not  want  to  waste  any  of  the  sunny 
days  on  the  lake  before  the  season  was  dead. 
He  missed  his  walks  with  Celia,  and  the  girl 
felt  strangely  depressed  and  lonely,  for  she 
had  been  companioned  first  by  Riplingham  and 


186        THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN 

then  by  Staniforth,  and  now  nobody  wa?  left 
to  her. 

Waiting  one  afternoon  while  Eve  put  on  her 
hat,  Staniforth  paused  a  moment  on  the  veranda 
threshold.  Celia'  sat  there  in  a  sunny  corner 
with  Dicky  in  her  arms.  She  was  singing  some 
absurd  nursery  rhyme  to  him,  and  the  boy, 
chuckled  with  delight.  Even  Staniforth  realised 
that  the  picture  was  one  to  admire.  Dicky  was 
a  jolly  little  chap,  and  he  hoped  some  day  to 
have  a  son  like  him.  It  would  be  rather 
comfortable  to  settle  down,  marry  a  woman  who 
cared  for  babies — like  Celia,  for  instance. 

The  girl  stopped  her  crooning  and  met  his 
admiring  eyes  with  a  blush.  At  that  moment 
she  was  wishing  she  had  a  baby  all  to  herself  ; 
but  whereas  her  thoughts  of  Dicky  were  un- 
complicated by  any  visions  of  a  husband,  Stani- 
forth's  sudden  visions  of  wedded  bliss  held  Celia 
in  the  centre  of  the  picture.  One  fell  in  love 
with  married  women,  one  philandered  with  them, 
but  a  time  came  when  a  man  wished  to  settle 
down,  and  then  it  was  the  turn  of  unblemished 
youth  to  triumph.  Staniforth  demanded  un- 
flecked  whiteness  in  his  bride,  and  it  was  to  Celia 
that  he  turned  to  supply  it. 


CHAPTER    XXI 

BELOW  on  the  Plains  it  grew  cooler  day  by  day. 
Those  two  great  rivers,  Ganges  and  Jumna,  sank 
back  into  their  channels,  releasing  the  fields 
from  their  wide  grip.  The  heavy  smell  of  decay 
lifted  from  the  wet  atmosphere,  and  little  airs 
of  reviving  freshness  blew  fitfully  at  dawn  and 
at  sunset.  Down  the  hill  came  a  steady  stream 
of  wayfarers,  eager  to  exchange  cramped 
quarters  for  the  wide  airiness  of  a  Plains 
bungalow. 

With  the  rest  came  Eve  and  Celia  and  Dicky, 
to  be  rapturously  welcomed  by  James  and  with 
due  restraint  by  Denis.  The  famine  had  sadly 
interrupted  his  monograph  on  the  Gonds,  but 
he  hoped  to  make  up  for  lost  time  during  the 
cold  weather.  The  first  evening  of  their  return 
he  resisted  the  call  of  ink  and  paper  to  sit  with 
them  in  the  drawing-room,  and  listened  with 
polite  but  strained  attention  to  their  feminine 
selection  of  interesting  subjects  for  discussion. 
But  his  duty  once  done,  the  drawing-room  saw 
him  no  more  after  dinner  unless  they  had  guests. 

For  the  first  weeks  that  followed  on  their 
arrival  in  the  Plains  Eve  was  very  busy.  There 


188        THE   UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN 

was  much  to  be  done  in  the  renewal  of  curtains 
and  chintzes  for  the  bungalow,  and  long  rounds 
of  calls  had  to  be  made  between  twelve  and 
two  o'clock.  Celia  went  with  her  to  call  at 
Government  House,  remembering  with  a  shiver 
the  first  time  she  had  been  there  and  had  met 
Riplingham's  ill-omened  smile.  The  new 
A.D.C.  was  an  anxious  youth  whose  furrowed 
brow  bore  witness  to  the  fractious  temper  of 
Lady  Kendall's  successor.  He  flung  callers  at 
her  feet  with  a  sulky  air  of  overwork,  and  looked 
absolutely  repellent  when  he  waited  for  new- 
comers at  the  top  of  the  portico  steps. 

"  How  one  misses  Captain  Riplingham  1  " 
breathed  Mrs.  Cunningham  in  Celia's  ear  as 
they  waited  by  the  book  where  the  chattering 
women  inscribed  their  names  with  the  vile  pens 
peculiar  to  Government  Houses  and  country 
inns. 

Celia's  eyes  faced  her  steadily. 

"  Yes,"  she  replied.  "  He  was  certainly  an 
ornament  to  the  top  step.  But  I  am  not  likely 
to  miss  him  as  much  as  you,  for  I  only  saw  him 
once  here.  And  I  haven't  had  so  much  oppor- 
tunity to  compare  notes  on  A.D.C.'s  as  you  in 
your  years  of  experience." 

Mrs.  Cunningham's  smile  was  positively 
hilarious.  She  had  been  paid  in  her  own  coin 
by  this  fresh-faced  girl  who  had  somehow  left 
her  sloughed  childishness  behind  her  in  the  hills. 
So  interested  was  she  in  Celia's  development 


THE   UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN        189 

that  she  bore  no  malice  for  the  thrust,  but  smiled 
more  kindly  than  she  usually  did  on  girls. 

"  That  cousin  of  yours  will  go  far,"  she  re- 
marked to  Eve.  "  She  has  just  insulted  me 
most  deliciously.  But  you  are  looking  fagged. 
Why  are  you  tired  at  the  very  beginning  of  the 
season?  " 

"  Don't  tell  me  I  look  tired,"  said  Eve 
piteously.  "  You  know  '  tired  '  means  '  plain  ' 
in  India,  and  I'm  feeling  positively  hideous.  I 
think  Celia  must  be  a  kind  of  vampire  sucking 
my  youth  out  of  me  and  flourishing  exceedingly 
on  it.  The  more  faded  I  get  the  brighter  she 
blooms." 

"  Why  don't  you  marry  her  off  and  get  rid 
of  her?  "  asked  Ethel,  and  she  did  not  meet  the 
snub  administered  to  Mrs.  Young's  version  of 
the  same  idea  a  few  months  ago. 

"  Nobody  shows  the  slightest  intention  of  ask- 
ing her  to  marry  them.  If  she  had  had  a  penny 
or  two  I  think  she  might  have  managed  Captain 

Riplingham.  As  it  is "  She  finished  her 

sentence  with  a  shrug. 

"As  it  is,"  went  on  Ethel  to  herself  as  she 
climbed  into  her  dog-cart, — "  as  it  is,  Celia  is 
going  to  manage  Captain  Staniforth,  and  she  is 
cleverer  than  I  thought." 

Meantime  Staniforth  was  torn  two  ways.  He 
still  felt  something  of  his  devotion  to  Eve,  but 
she  seemed  unaccountably  older  in  the  last  few 
weeks,  and  he  turned  eagerly  to  Celia's  abound- 


190        THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN 

ing  youth.  The  desire  to  settle  down  had  laid 
hold  on  him  ;  he  could  afford  a  wife  and  polo 
ponies  at  the  same  time.  Marriage  meant  no 
self-sacrifice,  and  he  was  getting  very  weary 
of  life  in  the  mess.  Before  his  attachment  to 
Mrs.  Lang  grew  to  be  treated  as  a  visible  fact 
he  had  been  hunted  to  weariness  by  eager 
mothers  of  marriageable  daughters.  Celia  did 
not  stir  a  finger  to  attract  him  ;  now  that  she 
understood  things  she  thought  she  would  never 
try  to  attract  a  man  again. 

Difficulty  added  zest.  He  had  to  avoid  Eve 
who  sought  him,  and  to  seek  Celia  who  did  not 
even  do  him  the  honour  of  avoidance,  but  seemed 
hardly  aware  of  his  presence. 

The  battle  could  only  have  one  ending.  Day 
by  day  Eve  saw  her  sovereignty  slipping  from 
her  and  the  sceptre  passing  into  her  cousin's 
hands.  She  was  too  proud  to  fight,  but  presently 
the  uncertainty  grew  over-fretting  for  her  nerves 
and  she  determined  to  know  the  truth. 

Coming  back  one  day  from  a  round  of  calls 
she  found  Staniforth  in  the  drawing-room  with 
Celia.  He  had  meant  to  leave  before  she  was 
likely  to  return,  but  the  time  had  sped  more 
quickly  than  he  knew.  His  embarrassment 
seemed  unnecessary,  for  Eve  met  him  with 
perfect  calm. 

"I'm  not  going  to  ask  you  to  stay  to  tiffin," 
she  said.  "I'm  dead  tired  after  the  most  wear- 
ing lot  of  bridal  calls  it  has  ever  been  my  fate 


THE   UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN        191 

to  make.  I  hate  brides  ;  they  are  always  so 
new  and  they  will  ask  how  much  I  give  for 
mutton.  As  if  I  knew  1  Anyhow,  I'm  worn  to 
tears,  and  I  am  going  to  bed  this  afternoon.  But 
do  come  in  to  tea  after  polo.  I  shall  be  alone, 
for  Celia'  is  playing  feminine  tennis  with  Dolly 
Philpot  and  looking  at  her  trousseau  after." 

He  murmured  something  of  delight,  and 
drove  back  to  santonments  with  the  feeling 
that  the  crisis  was  at  hand.  That  after- 
noon he  played  polo  shockingly,  for  his  mind 
was  detached  from  the  sunlit  grass  and  the 
elusive  white  ball,  and  the  red  and  white 
pennons  fluttering  atop  of  the  toffee -stick  goal- 
posts. 

He  did  not  play  in  the  last  chukker,  but  drove 
away  without  speaking  to  any  one,  and  was  soon 
in  Eve's  drawing-room  facing  her  across  the 
shining  tea-table.  He  had  intended  to  arrange 
beforehand  what  he  should  say,  but  he  was  so 
uncertain  as  to  her  line  of  thought  that  he  gave 
up  his  attempt,  and  met  her  unarmed  and 
defenceless . 

At  first  there  seemed  no  need  for  fear.  Aware 
of  his  embarrassment,  that  only  fed  the  cold 
dread  at  her  heart,  she  treated  him  with  the 
gentle  friendliness  of  their  earlier  meetings. 
Almost  he  could  have  imagined  himself  back 
in  those  first  months  long  before  Celia  came. 
He  half  wished  it  were  so  for  one  cowardly 
moment,  when  he  felt  as  he  had  done  the  day 


192        THE   UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN 

he  rode  in  his  first  steeplechase.  He  had  pulled 
himself  together  that  time,  but  to-day  it  seemed 
more  difficult,  for  those  actual  fences  had  only 
involved  hurting  himself  or  his  pony,  while 
to-day's  course  might  mean  the  hurting  of  a 
woman,  and  all  his  manliness  revolted  against 
that.  Writing  would  have  been  easier,  for  then 
he  need  not  have  seen  her  mouth  quivering  and 
her  eyes  full  of  tears.  Heavens  I  If  she  were 
to  cry  ! 

He  half  rose  from  his  chair,  but  Eve  inter- 
preted his  movement  as  a  desire  for  more  tea. 
She  filled  his  cup  with  steady  hands  that 
measured  out  exactly  the  right  amount  of  sugar 
and  cream.  Then  she  passed  him  a  dish  of 
absurd  cakes,  selecting  one  herself  with  an 
interest  that  appeared  to  him  misplaced  at  such 
a  crisis.  She  was  always  well  dressed  ;  but 
to-day  she  wore  a  beautiful  gown,  and  her  hair 
had  regained  all  the  soft  waviness  the  hills  had 
stolen  from  it.  Nothing  was  really  altered  in 
her  ;  he  was  mistaken  when  he  believed  her 
grown  plain  and  old.  Six  months  ago  this  lonely 
hour  in  her  drawing-room  would  have  seemed 
like  heaven.  And  now  Celia  had  come  and 
changed  everything  with  the  magic  of  her 
youth. 

All  the  while  he  sat  there,  pretending  to  eat, 
Eve's  golden  voice  carried  its  thread  of  words 
through  the  dark  fabric  of  his  thoughts.  She 
talked  gently  of  ordinary  things,  just  as  if  there 


THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN        193 

were  no  Celia  in  the  world  to  destroy  the  peace 
of  meetings  such  as  these. 

He  became  almost  afraid  that  she  might  not 
speak  after  all,  and  that  it  would  be  left  for 
him  to  broach  the  ugly  subject  of  his  changed 
affections.  One  thing  was  certain  ;  if  she  did 
not  begin  he  intended  of  his  own  accord  to 
clear  the  way  of  the  sentimental  obstacle  she 
presented  on  his  path  towards  marriage  with 
Celia. 

Even  while  he  made  his  mind  up  firmly  on  this 
point,  Eve  put  her  cup  down  on  the  tray  and 
began  to  speak. 

"  Is  it  quite  fair,  John?  "  she  asked  ;  and 
while  he  yet  stammered  something  incompre- 
hensible, she  went  on,  unmoved,  to  amplify  her 
question.  "  Is  it  quite  fair  to  Celia  or  to  me? 
Either  you  are  tired  of  me — in  which  case  why 
not  tell  me  so  and  finish  with  it? — or  you  are 
playing  with  Celia-;  and  it  isn't  fair  to  play  with 
a  girl  who  may  believe  you  are  in  earnest. 
You  are  letting  me  go  on  thinking  about  you 
as  if  we  still  both  cared.  That's  not  fair  j  I've 
got  to  think  of  you  differently  if  you  don't  want 
me  any  more.  If  you  want  Celia  you  must  give 
me  up — you  can't  have  both  of  us.  Will  you 
please  tell  me  the  exact  truth,  without  any  veil 
of  politeness  or  cowardice.  Do  you  care  for 
Celia?  " 

Dead  silence  hung  in  the  room.  Eve  leaned 
back  in  her  corner  of  the  sofa  and  waited  for 
13 


194        THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN 

her  sentence  with  her  hands  meekly  folded.  She 
was  very  pale  now,  but  her  face  was  free  from 
any  sign  of  emotion.  Staniforth  leaned  forward 
in  his  low  basket  chair  and  played  with  the  strap 
of  his  polo  boots.  The  long  seconds  dragged 
by  until  the  silence  became  intolerable,  and  he 
raised  his  eyes  in  a  mood  of  defiant  guilt. 

"If  you  want  to  know  the  exact  truth,"  he 
said,  "  I  do." 

So  it  was  over,  and  her  sentence  passed  upon 
her.  Eve  understood  suddenly  that  she  had  never 
really  believed  that  her  reign  was  over,  and  she 
had  planned  this  interview  merely  to  hear  his 
asseverations  of  changeless  love.  She  had  not 
honestly  thought  that  Celia  had  won  him  away 
from  her,  and  now  with  a  cold  certainty  of  truth 
his  words  dropped  into  her  brain. 

"  I  care  for  Celia  very  much,"  he  repeated, 
and  went  on  playing  with  his  boot-strap.  Eve 
still  leaned  back  in  her  corner,  for  she  felt 
like  one  who  has  received  a  deadly  physical 
wound  ;  she  was  not  in  the  least  faint,  but  her 
heart  was  icy  within  her  and  her  limbs  felt 
leaden.  And  yet  her  voice  did  not  tremble  when 
she  put  a  new  question. 

"  Have  you  told  her  you  care?  " 

"  Not  yet." 

"  You  had  some  idea  of  fairness,  then,"  she 
said  icily  ;  but  her  gibe  brought  no  reply. 
Plainly  he  intended  to  let  her  drag  the  truth 
out  by  mere  force. 


THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN        195 

"  Does  she  care  for  you?  "  she  went  on  ;  and 
this  time  he  looked  up  and  met  her  eyes. 

"  How  can  I  tell  without  asking  her?  "  he 
countered.  "  And  how  can  I  ask  until  I  get 
your  permission  to  speak  to  her?  "  It  was 
cleverly  done.  He  meant  to  acknowledge 
nothing  of  their  former  relations,  and  he  plainly 
hoped  that  she  would  have  tact  enough  to  refrain 
from  funeral  orations  over  his  dead  love  for  her. 
But  no  woman  is  strong  enough  to  see  herself 
supplanted  without  a  word,  for  silence  is  the  very 
last  lesson  any  woman  learns.  She  even  believes 
that  words  and  arguments  can  vitalise  the 
Lazarus -like  body  of  a  man's  dead  fancy,  and 
even  when  her  former  lover  has  set  the  seal 
on  his  new  passion  by  marrying  her  supplanter 
she  always  believes  that  he  keeps  the  dead  love 
sweet  with  frankincense  and  myrrh  in  a  hidden 
chamber  of  his  heart,  always  trusts  in  the  possi- 
bility of  resurrection. 

"  I  always  knew  that  it  would  come  some- 
time," she  went  on.  "I  always  knew  that  you 
would  want  to  marry  some  one,  but  I  never 
thought  it  would  come  so  soon,  so  suddenly. 
When  did  you  stop  caring  for  me,  and  when  did 
you  begin  loving  her?  " 

It  was  unfortunate  that  Eve  had  never  read 
Browning.  An  apt  quotation  is  often  a  momen- 
tary balm  for  a  sore  heart,  and  the  little  poem 
called  "  In  a  year  "  would  so  exactly  have  met 
her  case.  If  she  could  only  have  quoted  its 


196        THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN 

hurt  surprise  at  love's  failure  she  would  have 
brought  comfort  to  herself  and  ruth  to  him  ;  but 
she  knew  no  poetry,  and  had,  perforce,  to  state 
her  case  in  prose. 

But  the  pang  was  not  brief,  and  Staniforth 
seemed  disinclined  to  do  his  part. 

"  I  can't  tell,"  he  said  wretchedly.  "  Don't 
make  things  worse,  Eve.  I  can't  insult  you 
by  apologising,  and  nothing  I  can  say  can  make 
me  feel  more  ashamed  of  myself." 

"  Then  why  did  you  try  to  let  things  go  on 
as  usual  when  you'd  stopped  caring?  And  why 
won't  you  tell  me  when  you  did  stop?  " 

"  You  seem  to  imagine  that  one  day  my  love 
for  you  just  stopped— ran  down,  in  fact,  like 
an  unwound  watch.  It  didn't.  It  just " 

"  Just  faded  gently  out  of  existence,"  put  in 
Eve.  "Don't  think  I'm  hurt  or  surprised  or 
jealous.  It  was  bound  to  come.  But  I  think 
you  might  have  told  me  you'd  stopped 
caring." 

He  began  to  feel  baited.  It  was  hardly  play- 
ing fair  to  put  her  anger  on  to  that  ground. 
How  could  he  tell  when  he  did  not  realise  it 
properly  himself?  How  tell  her  of  the  thousand 
absurd  trifles  which  had  sapped  at  the  roots 
of  his  feeling  for  her?  She  could  never  under- 
stand how  the  rainy  days  in  her  airless  drawing- 
room,  her  nose  swelled  with  cold,  her  yellowed 
skin,  had  been  strong  enough  to  impel  him  in 
Celia's  direction.  His  love,  founded  on  idle- 


THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN        197 

ness  and  propinquity  like  many  Anglo-Indian 
affairs,  had  withered  away,  and  not  all  her  re- 
stored beauty  could  give  it  root  again  now  that 
Celia's  presence  overshadowed  her. 

He  could  not  offer  her  the  futile  reasons  which 
were  yet  the  true  causes  of  his  falling  away,  so 
he  must  needs  coin  false  excuses.  Suddenly  he 
straightened  his  back  and  looked  her  full  in 
the  eyes. 

"  Why  should  I  keep  faithful  to  you  all  my 
life  when  you  never  cared  enough  to  give  your- 
self to  me?  " 

Her  pale  cheeks  flushed  painfully. 

"  You  know  I  could  never  do  that,"  she  said 
in  a  low,  shamed  voice. 

"  Then  why  should  I  play  tame  cat  in  your 
drawing-room  and  be  rewarded  with  the  chaste 
and  modest  kiss  your  propriety  allowed?  Oh, 
I  know  I  am  being  a  cad.  I  know  that  I  laid 
siege  to  you,  that  I  made  you  care  by  the  very 
fact  that  I  loved  you.  But,  Eve,  if  you  want 
to  keep  a  man  like  me  you  must  give  him  either 
more  or  less  than  you've  given  me.  Once  you 
let  me  kiss  you  things  could  not  remain  at  a 
standstill  ;  we  had  either  to  go  on  further  (and 
that  I  know  you  never  would  do),  or  stop 
altogether." 

"So  at  the  right  moment  Celia  appeared," 
said  Eve.  "  And  she  is  younger  and  prettier 
and — more  good  than  I  am.  And  you  can  marry 
her  because  she  is  free,  so  I,  having  filled  in 


198        THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN 

an  interval  successfully,  can  retire  with  what 
grace  I  may  command." 

"  You  have  been  an  angel  to  me,"  began 
Staniforth  eagerly  ;  but  she  stopped  him  with  a 
contemptuous  hand. 

"  No  rhetoric,  please,  and  no  pity  either. 
Don't  flatter  yourself  I'm  heartbroken.  I  never 
had  a  heart  to  break.  I  never  loved  you,  you 
know — not  with  the  kind  of  love  men  seem  to 
want  from  a  woman.  But  I  was  dreadfully 
lonely  ;  I  needed  some  one  to  care  whether  I 
exist.  I  wanted  a  man  to  admire  me,  to  be 
my  playmate,  in  fact." 

"  But  a  man  doesn't  make  a  good  playmate," 
said  Staniforth  gravely.  "  We  are  all  wild 
animals  with  but  a  veneer  of  tameness.  You 
are  much  too  beautiful  to  try  to  run  friend- 
ships on  your  present  lines.  If  you  had  let  me 
love  you  really,  everything  would  have  been 
different." 

"  And  you  would  have  been  all  the  more 
attracted  by  Celia's  innocence  afterwards,"  she 
said,  with  a  gentle  smile.  "  Meanwhile  we 
understand  each  other.  There  is  really  no  need 
to  be  old-fashioned  and  consult  Denis  first  ;  just 
speak  to  Celia  when  you  like.  Come  to-morrow 
afternoon  and  take  her  for  a;  drive.  I  haven't 
the  least  idea  whether  she  will  accept  you— you 
probably  know  that  better  than  I  do." 

She  rose  with  an  air  of  concluding  a  business 
interview,  and  in  a  moment  he  was  bowling 


THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN        199 

down  the  road  with  a  mighty  weight  lifted  from 
his  heart  and  path  alike.  The  episode  with 
Eve  was  definitely  over,  and  his  life  with  Celia 
stretched  ahead,  a  glistering  path  of  whiteness. 
He  was  not  fit  to  touch  her  snowy  purity,  but 
he  meant  to  reform  for  her  sake. 

That  evening  he  electrified  his  brother  officers 
by  frowning  at  a  story  that  was  merely  vulgar 
and  not  in  the  least  improper. 

"  He's  cut  loose,"  remarked  one  subaltern 
to  another,  "  and  now  he  will  marry  Miss 
Innocence." 

"  If  Miss  Innocence  will  have  him,"  returned 
the  other  doubtfully. 

Next  evening  Staniforth  did  not  dine  at  the 
mess.  He  was  engaged  to  Celia,  and  eating 
an  uncomfortable  meal  under  Eve's  calm  eyes. 
Denis  had  given  his  consent  with  a  surprised 
comment  on  the  situation. 

"  I  never  thought  he  was  attracted  by  the 
child,"  he  remarked.  "  I  always  thought  he 
belonged  to  you." 

"  Quite  a  mistake,"  said  Eve  airily.  "  He 
was  merely  employed  in  performing  those  duties 
husbands  haven't  time  for  in  India." 


CHAPTER    XXII 

So  youth  had  conquered.  Celia  would  never  be 
beautiful  in  Eve's  rather  splendid  fashion,  but 
her  peach -blossom  colouring  and  her  skyey  eyes 
had  thus  easily  snatched  the  man's  vagrant 
fancy.  Riplingham  had  led  the  way,  and,  tired 
now  of  a  fruitless  devotion  to  Eve,  John  Stani- 
forth's  thoughts  had  winged  towards  a  more 
practical  attachment. 

For  a  brief  moment  Eve  wondered  whether 
the  surrender  he  dared  to  speak  of  would  have 
held  him  to  her.  She  could  almost — for  that 
one  moment — have  thought  it  worth  while,  for 
the  empty  days  stretched  grey  before  her  and 
her  heart  sickened  at  the  loneliness  they  held. 
But  a  moment  later  sanity  returned.  Surrender 
or  no  surrender,  it  is  given  to  few  women  to 
hold  an  unauthorised  lover.  The  fresher  faces 
intervene,  and  the  years  that  should  bind  do 
but  unloose.  "  Grow  old  along  with  me  "  comes 
but  from  a  husband's  lips.  Age  spells  defeat 
to  the  woman  who  dares  to  love  without  sanction 
of  bell  and  book. 

Celia  took  her  engagement  calmly.     It   was 

900 


THE   UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN        201 

decided  that  her  wedding  should  take  place  at 
the  end  of  the  cold  weather,  so  that  her  trousseau 
could  be  received  from  England  in  time.  Eve 
threw  herself  into  the  preparations,  hoping  to 
cheat  her  loneliness  by  hard  work.  The  gap  in 
her  life  was  hard  to  fill  ;  her  only  comfort  lay 
in  the  fact  that  no  one  realised  its  existence. 
A  reputation  for  coldness  goes  a  long  way 
towards  rendering  a  woman  free  from  tongues 
of  gossip,  and  nobody  hurt  her  with  pity  for 
Staniforth's  defection. 

The  man's  attitude  was  typical  of  him.  All 
his  life  he  had  got  his  own  way  ;  the  difficult 
moment  once  over  he  had  taken  his  own  way 
again.  He  had  wanted  Eve's  friendship  and 
taken  it,  when  it  suited  him  to  hand  it  back 
he  had  done  so  with  a  little  irritation  against 
her  because  she  made  it  difficult. 

True,  he  had  nothing  but  praise  for  her  bear- 
ing when  once  the  uncomfortable  interview  was 
over  ;  he  found  it  admirable  in  every  way.  Not 
a  word,  not  a  sign  claimed  his  past.  Some 
women,  he  knew,  would  have  made  the  position 
impossible  by  a  cruel  assumption  of  authority 
over  the  former  days,  but  Eve  had  abdicated 
with  a  full  renunciation  of  all  the  rights  she 
might  imagine  she  possessed  over  his  memory. 

She  helped  him  to  forget  scenes  and  words 
that  might  well  have  proved  irksome  to  a 
sensitive  mind.  By  her  tact  alone  he  was  able 
to  slip  into  his  new  place  in  the  household 


202        THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN 

without  jarring  his  own  comfort  or  hurting 
Celia's  new  pride  hi  her  engagement. 

She  was  wonderful,  and  his  feeling  for  her 
changed,  not  into  hate  as  it  so  easily  could 
have  done,  but  into  a  kind  of  astonished  admira- 
tion, blended  with  a  little  pique  that  she  felt 
his  loss  so  slightly.  Once  when  they  happened 
to  be  alone  he  blundered  into  a  reference  to 
her  kindness — a  mistake  she  met  with  the  raised 
eyebrows  of  displeased  surprise,  crushing  any 
further  reference  to  their  past.  Sometimes  she 
wondered  if  Celia  felt  any  jealousy  of  Stani- 
forth's  earlier  devotion,  but  her  cousin  presented 
a  blank  wall  to  all  surmise.  It  was  not  easy 
to  tell  whether  Celia  cared  for  Staniforth,  or 
whether  she  had  but  accepted  him  as  the  first 
man  to  offer  marriage. 

But  for  her  difficult  position  in  the  triangle 
Eve  would  have  questioned  her  cousin  definitely, 
and,  adopting  a  maternal  role,  have  cautioned 
her  of  loveless  marriages .  As  it  was  she  could  do 
nothing  for  Celia,  beyond  spending  Denis's 
money  to  the  very  best  advantage  on  a 
trousseau . 

It  is  possible  that  Celia  could  not  have 
answered  the  questions  Eve  longed  to  put  to 
her.  Dazed  by  her  adventure  on  Riplingham's 
last  evening,  she  presented  a  numb  soul  to  all 
new  happenings.  When  Staniforth  had  driven 
her  to  the  jungle  thickets  and  had  asked  her 
to  marry  him,  she  walked  under  the  babul -trees 


THE   UNKNOWN   STEERSMAN        203 

by  his  side  wondering  that  the  recollection  of 
her  earlier  visits  there  brought  no  poignant 
hurt. 

She  decided  swiftly  that  she  could  accept  him. 
The  dullness  she  deemed  inseparable  from 
marriage  showed  now  as  a  safe  haven.  She 
was  glad  to  be  engaged,  and  found  Staniforth's 
gentle  love-making  quite  to  her  taste. 

Resolutely  she  shut  away  all  memories  that 
might  cloud  sunny  days,  finding  that  the  many 
congratulations  she  received  helped  to  restore 
her  easy  self-respect. 

But  some  idle  words  of  Dolly  Philpot  dis- 
turbed what  was  really  only  a  surface  calm. 
The  two  girls  sat  among  a  litter  of  trousseau 
parcels,  Celia  taking  notes  from  Miss  Philpot 
for  her  own  guidance. 

"  I  never  thought  I  could  be  so  happy,"  said 
Dolly,  fingering  a  lace  petticoat  affectionately. 
"  And  to  think  I  nearly  accepted  Mr.  Heming- 
way because  he  was  such  a  good  match.  And 
to  think,  too,  that  I  nearly  went  to  Naini  instead 
of  Simla.  If  I'd  gone  to  Naini  I  would  never 
have  met  Harold." 

"  I  suppose  you  are  frightfully  happy?  "  put  in 
Celia,  eyeing  a  camisole  with  undivided  interest. 
She  was  not  really  impressed  by  her  friend's 
ecstasies,  though  she  enjoyed  examining  patterns 
of  underlinen. 

"  There  is  only  one  drawback,"  went  on  Dolly. 
"  I  wish  I  were  young  like  you.  I  don't  mean 


204        THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN 

I'm  so  much  older  in  years,  but  you  are  going 
to  marry  your  very  first  love,  and  I'm  not.  Of 
course  I  know  it  was  fun  to  flirt,  but  I  can't 
help  wishing  I  could  have  come  to  Harold 
quite — new.  Now  I  don't  suppose  any  one 
kissed  you  in  your  life  till  the  day  you  got 
engaged." 

Celia  dropped  the  garment  she  was  holding 
and  looked  up  with  a  strange  question  in  her 
eyes. 

"  Does  a  man  care  much  if  some  one  else  has 
kissed  you?  "  she  asked. 

"  You  little  innocent  1 "  scoffed  Dolly  affection- 
ately. "  Of  course  he  cares.  He  would  like 
to  think  he  was  the  very  first  to  make  love  to 
you.  He  knows  very  often  that  he  isn't,  but 
he'd  always  like  it  to  be  so.  A  man  is  dread- 
fully jealous  of  the  days  before  he  knew 
you." 

This  view  of  the  question  had  never  occurred 
to  Celia  before.  Dolly  Philpot  had  cause  to 
grieve  over  the  past,  to  regret  kisses  accepted 
without  rancour  from  idle  men  in  search  of 
entertainment.  But  Celia  looked  now  at  her 
own  short  past,  opening  the  door  of  memory  as 
resolutely  as  she  had  shut  it.  The  blot  loomed 
blacker  than  in  those  first  dazed  weeks  when 
forgetfulness  had  seemed  the  only  way.  Abruptly 
she  took  leave  of  Dolly  and  her  trousseau,  court- 
ing solitude  to  face  this  new  problem.  If  a 
man  were  likely  to  resent  poor  Dolly's  rather 


THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN        205 

vulgar  little  affairs,  in  what  light  would  he  see 
Celia's  own  conduct? 

That  evening  Staniforth  dined  with  them. 
Denis  was  out  in  his  district,  whither  Eve  seldom 
went  because  she  disliked  the  discomforts  of 
camp  life.  This  season  she  had  the  additional 
excuse  of  work  connected  with  the  approaching 
marriage.  She  toiled  hard  to  sustain  the  con- 
versation, for  Celia  said  nothing  all  the  evening, 
but  stared  at  Staniforth  with  puzzled  eyes. 
Ought  she  to  tell  him,  and  if  she  told  him  would 
he  ever  forgive  her?  She  found  herself  suddenly 
aghast  at  the  idea  of  losing  him.  .When  it  was 
time  for  him  to  go,  and  she  went  out  on  to  the 
discreetly  shaded  veranda  to  say  good-night,  she 
found  herself  clinging  to  him  in  puzzled 
fear.  His  shoulder  was  so  broad,  his  arm  so 
protecting  for  the  child  who  had  done  with- 
out loving  care  all  her  life.  She  wanted  to 
belong  to  some  one — wanted  to  be  protected 
and  petted  by  some  one  nearer  than  a  mere 
cousin. 

Eve  had  been  kind  in  her  detached  way,  but 
there  was  not  a  sufficing  welcome  for  an  egoist 
like  Celia  in  her  cousin's  house. 

The  protecting  quality  of  that  farewell  em- 
brace decided  her  for  the  moment  ;  she  could 
not  show  that  blot  on  her  escutcheon  to  Stani- 
forth. An  excuse  of  a  headache  accounted  to 
her  cousin  for  her  silence  during  the  day  ;  Eve 
listened  to  it  smiling. 


206        THE   UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN 

"  Too  much  chatter  with  Dolly  Philpot,  I 
expect,"  she  said. 

"  I  think  that  must  have  been  it,"  assented 
Celia  gravely,  as  she  went  off  to  her  room  to 
bed. 


CHAPTER    XXIII 

CELIA  went  to  bed,  but  she  could  not  sleep. 
Dolly's  words  rang  in  -her  ears  until  her  burden 
grew  too  heavy  for  her  to  bear,  and  the  impulse 
to  confession  was  too  strong  to  be  resisted  any 
longer.  She  dived  under  the  mosquito  net 
hastily  untucked  from  beneath  her  mattress. 
Then,  candle  in  hand,  she  crossed  the  Drawing- 
room,  the  chairs  and  tables  looming  ghostly  in 
her  path,  and  pulled  aside  the  curtain  which 
veiled  the  open  doorway  of  Eve's  bedroom. 
Within  the  dim  white  oblong  formed  by  the 
mosquito  netting  she  could  just  descry  a  still 
dim  figure.  Her  cousin  was  asleep,  but  that  was 
a  small  obstacle  to  Celia's  resolve.  She  put  her 
candle  down  on  the  small  table  by  the  bedside, 
and  insinuating  one  hand  within  the  curtains  she 
gently  shook  Eve's  shoulder. 

Eve  woke  in  a  moment  and  stared  at  Celia's 
white  form. 

"  Are  you  ill?  "  she  asked  quickly.  "I'll 
unlock  the  medicine -chest  in  a  second." 

"No,  I'm  not  ill,  but  I've  come  to  speak  to 
you,  Eve.  Don't  get  up,  lie  where  you  are, 
and  I'll  try  to  tell  you." 

207 


208        THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN 

Eve  lay  back  on  her  pillows  again,  her  heart 
beating  strangely  as  she  tried  to  see  the  expres- 
sion of  Celia's  face  down-bent  amid  her  masses 
of  fine,  soft  hair.  Had  she  come  to  say  she  had 
mistaken  her  feelings  towards  Staniforth  ;  come 
to  plead  for  time,  for  deliverance  from  her 
promise? 

Celia  turned  away  from  the  bed  and  paced 
towards  the  doorway,  which  stood  open  wide 
to  the  moonlit  compound.  Hollyhocks,  wine  red, 
pearl  white,  blush  pink  by  daylight,  rose  in  a 
hedge  of  silver  spires  beyond  the  lawn.  Heavy 
masses  of  foliage  crowning  the  still  trees  lay 
like  ebony  on  a  sky  of  enamelled  silver.  The 
matchless  purity  of  the  flooding  moonlight  struck 
with  a  sudden  passionate  regret  at  the  heart  of 
the  child  who  scarcely  yet  realised  the  value  of 
the  treasure  she  had  lost.  She  began  to  search 
for  the  ugly  words  that  must  clothe  her  case, 
that  might  lose  Eve's  hardly  granted  love.  Turn- 
ing from  the  abrupt  lights  and  shadows  of  the 
garden  she  faced  the  dim  room  again,  and  a 
rustle  from  the  bed  told  her  that  Eve  was  sitting 
up  among  her  pillows  waiting. 

"  .What  is  it,  dear?  "  asked  the  woman  gently. 
Celia  had  seldom  heard  that  golden  voice  soften 
before  ;  she  wondered  if  the  face  too  were 
warmer,  less  aloof,  shrouded  there  in  the  veiled 
dimness.  Then  came  a  hasty  plunge  into  the 
luxury  of  confession. 

"  Eve,  what  is  the  worst  thing  a  woman  can 
do?" 


THE   UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN        209 

"The  worst  thing?  "  Eve's  questioning  tone 
held  nothing  of  horror  ;  she  had  no  glimmer 
as  yet. 

"Yes,  the  worst  thing— the  wickedest." 

"I  don't  understand  you."  The  voice  was 
cold  again.  "  Are  you  asking  for  a  new  set 
of  moral  precepts?  If  so,  why  wake  me  up  in 
the  night — won't  to-morrow  do  as  well?  " 

"  It  has  got  to  be  now.  I  can't  hide  it  any 
more.  It's  too  heavy  for  me  to  carry  alone. 
You  must  help  me,  Eve  ;  you've  got  to  listen 
and  help  me." 

"  What  is  it?  I'm  listening.  What  have  you 
done?  " 

"  I  let  Captain  Riplingham  make  love  to  me." 
She  thought  her  ordeal  complete,  her  confession 
done,  and  waited  for  Eve's  disdain  ;  but  to  her 
surprise  a  low  laugh,  which  seemed  strangely  to 
hold  relief,  came  from  the  bed. 

"You  are  a  silly  little  girl.  I  was  afraid  he 
flirted  with  you,  but  now  you're  going  to  be 
married  you  must  forget  all  that  kind  of 
rubbish." 

Celia  turned  swiftly  from  the  doorway  and 
sprang  towards  the  bed. 

"  Eve,  you  don't  understand.  You  can't,  or 
you  wouldn't  treat  it  like  that.  It  wasn't  just 
love,  it  was  the  worst — the  worst  thing  of  all." 
She  stood  panting  by  the  bedside,  her  frightened 
eyes  close  to  the  meshes  of  the  net,  intent  on 
Eve's  slow  rising. 

14 


210        THE   UNKNOWN   STEERSMAN 

"  You  don't  know  what  you're  saying,  Celia." 
She  pulled  at  the  curtains  with  an  uncertain 
hand,  and  in  a  moment  was  at  the  girl's  side, 
holding  the  candle  that  made  a  little  pool  of 
yellow  light  in  the  dim  whiteness  of  the  room. 

"  I  know  perfectly  well  what  I'm  saying.  Try 
to  understand  ;  it  is  so  difficult  to  say  ;  I  don't 
suppose  any  girl  ever  had  it  to  say  before.  I 
wanted  to  know  everything,  and— Captain  Rip- 
lingham  helped  me." 

Eve  caught  her  roughly  by  the  arm.  "  You 

don't  mean  to  say  that  he "  The  words 

failed  with  her  grip,  and  she  turned  aside.  Celia 
followed,  eager  for  her  comprehension. 

"  I  suppose  it  was  my  fault,"  she  went  on. 
"It  was  in  the  hills— his  last  night.  You 
remember  he  came  to  dinner  and  the  Rat-Catcher 
was  there,  and  I'd  quarrelled  with  Captain  Rip- 
lingham — at  least,  he  hadn't  been  nice  to  me 
for  a  long  time  and  I  wanted  to  make  it  up. 
So  I  asked  him  to  come  back  and  say  goodbye 
to  me  when  you'd  all  gone  to  bed  ;  and  I  waited 
on  my  veranda  for  him,  and — he  came." 

There  was  no  escape  from  the  finality  of  her 
words,  but  a  foolish  hope  still  mocked  Eve. 

"  Are  you  sure  you  know  what  you  are 
saying?  "  she  implored. 

"  Quite  sure.  I  didn't  know  what  I  was 
doing,  and  he  thought  I  did.  And  when  I  knew, 
I  hated  him.  He  wrote  to  me  from  Bombay 
and  asked  me  to  marry  him— such  a  queer,  stiff 


THE  UNKNOWN  STEEKSMAN       211 

letter— and  I  wrote  back  to  say  I  never  wanted 
to  see  him  again,  and  I  could  never  marry  him 
as  long  as  I  lived." 

"  Celia,  dear,  do  you  really  mean  to  tell  me 
that  Captain  Riplingham " 

"  Don't  say  it  1  "  broke  in  Celia.  "  Don't  say 
it  I  it  is  too  ugly  ;  only  remember  that  it  was  the 
worst  thing  that  happened."  Her  tone  brought 
certainty  at  last. 

"  Child,  how  could  you?  "  moaned  Eve. 
"  Didn't  you  understand  what  you  were  doing? 
Didn't  you  even  understand  the  danger  you  were 
in?  It  was  my  fault  ;  I  oughtn't  to  have  left 
you  so  much  when  I  was  responsible  for  you, 
but  I  thought  you  were  a  child,  an  innocent 
baby." 

"  So  I  was,"  said  Celia  passionately  ;  "  but  I 
wanted  to  know  and  feel  and  understand  every- 
thing—I wanted  to  live,  to  get  out  of  the  dull- 
ness of  innocent  childhood.  I  wanted  to  be 
loved,  I  wanted  to  matter  to  somebody.  It 
seemed  so  splendid  that  a  man  had  chosen  me. 
How  was  I  to  know  what  he  had  chosen  me 
for?  I  didn't  know  love  meant  that  kind  pf 
thing.  vWhen  I  knew  I  just  tried  to  forget. 
Tell  me,  Eve,  may  I  go  on  forgetting?  If 
people  never  know,  does  it  matter  so  dreadfully? 
I  told  you  because  I  wanted  to  ask  your  advice. 
Must  I  tell  John?  " 

An  electric  shock  ran  through  Eve's  veins. 
The  child's  eager  question  showed  her  suddenly 


212        THE  UNKNOWN   STEERSMAN 

a  new  chance  of  happiness— an  idea  that  dazzled 
with  its  swift  brightness.  She  drew  Celia  to 
a  wicker  sofa  and  sat  by  her  side,  gazing  out 
at  the  moonlit  garden,  her  thoughts  darting 
lightning -wise  from  one  point  to  another. 

"  Let  me  think,"  she  said,  to  check  Celia's 
ready  tongue.  "  Don't  speak  to  me  yet."  James 
had  wandered  in  from  his  string  bedstead  on  the 
veranda  and  he  lay  down  by  Celia,  pillowing 
his  head  on  her  bare  feet.  She  bent  to  caress 
his  flopping  ears,  and  Eve  felt  a  strange  repulsion 
from  the  girl  who  could  make  such  a  confession 
and  lavish  idle  affection  on  a  dog  a  moment 
later. 

She  turned  to  look  at  the  childish  figure  at 
her  side,  the  down-bent  face  as  yet  unmarred 
by  remorseful  tears,  the  slight  load  of  care  too 
easily  banished  by  confession.  Celia  had  trans- 
ferred her  burden  to  Eve's  shoulders.  If  Eve 
thought  fit,  the  weight  must  again  be  lifted  and 
the  confession  made  to  John. 

Meantime  Eve's  busy  brain  was  showing  her 
what  that  would  mean.  Jaded  by  custom  he 
had  turned  from  her  to  the  lure  of  the  spring- 
like charm  of  untouched  youth.  It  was  Celia's 
whiteness,  child-like  purity,  fresh  sweetness 
which  had  attracted  John.  If  he  knew  that  these 
qualities  of  hers  for  which  he  loved  her  had 
existed  only  in  his  imagination,  he  must  turn 
away  from  her.  Celia's  crudeness  could  be  no 
match  for  his  knowledge  of  the  world,  she  could 


THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN        213 

be  no  real  companion  for  him.  Eve's  maturity 
might  attract  him  again  after  his  straying  were 
proved  but  a  mistaken  foolishness. 

Eve  saw  herself  for  a  moment  lapped  again 
in  the  warmth  of  John's  care.  The  desire  to  be 
first  with  somebody  was  even  stronger  in  her 
than  in  most  women  ;  and  she  had  felt  so  lonely 
after  his  defection,  so  cold,  so  unwanted.  She 
was  certain  that  it  needed  but  Celia's  confession 
to  regain  all  she  had  lost.  She  turned  to  deliver 
the  child's  judgment. 

James  was  lying  in  an  ecstatic  rapture  on  his 
back,  his  four  legs  sticking  stiffly  in  the  air 
while  Celia  tickled  his  chin.  No  pose  of 
repentant  sinner  met  Eve's  gaze,  and  suddenly 
there  welled  a  gush  of  pity  in  her  heart,  mingled 
with  the  bitter  waters  of  shame  for  her  own 
selfishness,  shame  for  the  responsibility  she  had 
shirked.  Her  own  idle  carelessness  had  brought 
about  the  tragedy  by  which  a  moment  ago  she 
had  meant  to  profit.  For  the  first  time  in  her 
life  Eve  restrained  her  hand  from  taking  what 
she  wanted,  and  in  a  moment  she  had  rendered 
Celia's  lover  to  her  again. 

14  Listen  to  me,"  she  said.  "  You  must  never 
tell  John .  He  would  never  forgive  you,  and  your 
wedding  would  never  take  place.  Men  think 
about  these  things  so  differently  ;  and  it's  right 
that  they  should.  If  John  knew  it,  he  would 
never  marry  you  ;  but  it  is  not  necessary  to  tell 
him.  I  couldn't  say  this  to  a  girl  ;  but  you  are 


214        THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN 

not  a  girl  any  longer  after  what  you  have  done, 
so  I  can  tell  you  that  many  men  have  incidents 
such  as  yours  before  they  marry  and  they  don't 
tell  their  wives.  So  for  once  a  woman  can 
act  like  a  man  and  keep  silence." 

Eve's  voice,  wearied,  hard  and  metallic  after 
her  mental  struggle,  ceased  its  monotonous 
words.  She  had  given  the  right  advice  from 
her  own  point  of  view,  and  she  ignored  the 
general  morality  of  the  question.  A  man  did 
not  really  deserve  more  than  he  gave.  Celia's 
treatment  at  the  hands  of  one  man  should  be 
avenged  by  the  ignorance  of  another. 

The  girl  had  withdrawn  her  attention  from 
James  and  gazed  eagerly  at  her  cousin's  dimly 
seen  face.  She  heard  her  decision  with  a  sigh 
of  relief. 

"  I'm  glad  I  needn't  tell.  Of  course  I  believe 
he  would  forgive  me  in  the  end,  but  it  would  be 
horrid  to  tell  him,"  she  said,  in  a  matter-of-fact 
way. 

Her  cousin  rose  in  a  sudden  gust  of  passion. 

"  Are  you  perfectly  heartless,  or  are  you 
mad?  "  she  cried.  "  You  sit  there  calmly  and 
play  with  a  dog  while  you  tell  me  your  horrible 
story.  Can't  you  realise  what  you've  done?  " 

Celia  settled  herself  squarely  in  her  dogged 
way. 

"  I  don't  see  how  I  am  responsible,"  she  said 
calmly.  "  Not  altogether,  anyhow.  Nobody 
ever  taught  me  anything.  I  saw  you  and  John 


THE   UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN        215 

always  together,  and  you  let  me  see  as  much 
of  the  other  man  as  I  wanted." 

"  You  knew  that  what  you  did  was  wrong— 
you  must  "have  done." 

"  Yes,  but  why  was  it  wrong?  How  could  I 
tell  it  was  wrong  until  I'd  tried?  I  mean,  how 
could  I  tell  whether  it  was  worth  it  until  I 
tried?  Rightness  and  wrongness  seem  to  change 
the  whole  time.  Things  that  were  wrong  in 
Fen  dyke,  like  playing  tennis  on  Sunday,  are  all 
right  here.  Why,  you  play  bridge  for  money 
on  Sundays — I've  seen  you.  The  rector  would 
have  said  it  was  wicked  to  play  cards  for  money 
even  on  Saturday— but  on  Sunday " 

"  Celia,  there  are  certain  things  which  are 
always  wrong,"  said  Eve  hopelessly. 

"  I've  never  found  any.  Even  the  Command- 
ments are  different  in  Fendyke." 

"  You  are  quibbling  ;  you  must  have  known 
you  were  wrong  ;  you  said  yourself  that  you  had 
done  the  worst  thing  a  woman  could  do." 

"  I  was  frightened  then,"  said  Celia  ;  "  and, 
Eve,  I'm  really  just  a  bit  frightened  now.  You 
don't  hate  me,  do  you?  Remember  I've  never 
had  any  one  to  love  me  in  my  life  before,  and 
when  I  came  here  you  didn't  care  for  me  as 
I  hoped  you  would.  And  now  I've  taken  John. 
Oh,  I  know  you  didn't  really  care  for  him  as  I 
thought  you  did  ;  he  has  often  explained  what 
friends  you  were,  and  how  he  never  even  kissed 
your  hand.  Still  he  was  your  very  own  friend, 


216        THE   UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN 

and  now  he  doesn't  have  so  much  time  for  you 
as  he  did,  and  you  must  miss  him.  And  I 
know  really,  o"f  course,  that  I've  been  fright- 
fully wicked,  but  I've  repented  now,  so  you  will 
forgive  me." 

Her  words  tumbled  out  in  anxious  confusion, 
and  the  last  sentence  was  mumbled  from  her 
refuge  in  Eve's  arms.  The  elder  woman  stroked 
the  down-bent  head  and  pressed  the  slender 
form  to  her  breast  in  an  unavailing  agony. 

The  downfall,  hardly  the  less  ruinous  because 
the  child  did  not  yet  realise  it,  was  the  work  of 
her  hands.  Eve's  idleness  had  murdered  a  soul. 

Appalled  by  the  uselessness  of  repentance,  she 
stared  over  Celia's  head  into  the  darkness,  her 
unseeing  eyes  reviewing  her  idle  past.  Then 
she  put  the  child  gently  from  her.  She  was 
young  and  so  calm  in  her  misdeeds,  they  seemed 
to  have  made  so  slight  an  impression  on  her. 
Perhaps  there  was  hope.  Outwardly  she  was  as 
untouched  as  ever  ;  perhaps  the  hurt  soul  within 
might  yet  lay  hold  on  life.  For  Eve  herself 
there  could  be  no  forgiveness,  but  for  the  child 
Celia  God  might  find  some  healing  spring. 

"  Poor  little  one  I  "  she  whispered.  "  Don't 
be  afraid  ;  I've  never  loved  you  so  much  as  I 
do  now.  Go  to  bed,  forget  all  this  horror,  and 
never,  never  speak  of  it  again,  even  to  me." 

Celia's  candle  had  guttered  out,  and  she  took 
the  one  Eve  put  into  her  hand  and  went  away 
without  a  word.  In  a  moment  she  was  sleeping 


THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN        217 

peacefully,  her  mind  too  deeply  at  rest  to  give 
her  any  dreams.  But  Eve's  mental  burden  was 
heavy,  and  the  hot  stillness  of  her  room  weighed 
on  her  physically,  so  that  presently,  she  threw 
a  dressing-gown  about  her  and  stepped  out  into 
the  moonlit  garden. 

As  she  walked  there  she  faced  herself,  awake 
^at  last,  searching  depths  that  had  passed  for 
shallowness.  Behind  her  trotted  James,  soberly 
delighted  at  this  unexpected  stroll,  yet  a  little 
puzzled  in  his  mind  at  such  strange  proceedings. 


CHAPTER    XXIV 

BY  common  consent  neither  of  the  women  re- 
ferred again  to  the  secret  that  lay  between  them. 
Once  absolved  of  the  duty  of  confession,  Celia 
appeared  to  shake  misgivings  from  her  heart 
with  astonishing  ease.  The  transferred  burden 
weighed  all  the  heavier  on  her  cousin,  for  Eve 
took  on  her  own  shoulders  all  the  blame  for 
what  had  happened.  With  hot  remorse  she  re- 
membered how  she  had  benefited  from  Celia 's 
coming,  recalled  how  the  child  had  shown  her 
Dicky  in  a  new  light,  had  helped  her  to  con 
again  the  half -forgotten  lore  of  motherhood. 

Selfishly  irresponsible,  she  had  neglected  Celia 
to  everlasting  hurt.  The  child  had  brought 
her  nothing  but  good,  for  which  she  had  returned 
nothing  but  evil.  Fantastic  schemes  of  atone- 
ment formed  in  her  brain,  to  be  rejected  because 
no  one  must  ever  know  of  Celia's  wakeful  night 
of  confession. 

Cheerfully  would  Eve  have  offered  her  life 
to  buy  back  Celia's  soul  if  the  exchange  had 
been  possible  ;  but  as  she  could  not  die  in 


THE   UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN        219 

expiation  she  realised  that  life  at  any  rate  might 
serve  as  a  burnt -offer  ing,  and  she  cast  about 
for  an  altar  and  a  flame. 

She  began  with  the  Gonds.  As  henceforth 
she  must  live  for  others,  she  decided  to  live  for 
Denis  first.  Dicky  needed  no  embroidery  ;  he 
was,  in  fact,  progressing  into  his  first  sailor 
suits,  which  refused  maternal  fancy-work.  The 
nurse  who  had  dandled  the  children  of 
Lieutenant -Governors  was  far  too  good  to 
dismiss,  but  her  authority  extended  over  the 
lucky  mothers  of  the  infants  in  her  charge,  and 
she  disapproved  of  frequent  maternal  visits  to 
the  nursery.  There  was,  in  fact,  very  little  to 
be  done  for  Dicky. 

The  Gonds  proved  wearing.  To  her 
fastidiousness  they  were  an  unpleasant  race  with 
disgusting  customs,  and  she  failed  to  understand 
her  husband's  regard  for  them.  When  she 
offered  shyly  to  help  him  with  his  book  in  the 
evenings  he  stared  at  her  first  in  wordless 
astonishment.  Presently  he  inquired  whether 
she  did  not  think  it  wise  to  take  her  temperature 
—an  implication  which  effectually  crushed  any 
desire  to  assist  his  literary  evenings. 

There  remained  Celia  ;  but  she  was  com- 
pletely immersed  in  her  John.  Thus  all  that 
Eve  could  do  for  her  was  connected  invariably 
with  Staniforth's  presence.  On  polo  days  Celia 
never  claimed  him,  but  she  always  wanted  to 
watch  him  play,  so  Eve  drove  her  down  to  the 


220        THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN 

ground  and  sat  by  her  side  through  the  tedious 
progress  of  the  game  she  neither  liked  nor 
understood. 

It  proved  a  difficult  matter  to  start  living 
for  others  when  nobody  seemed  to  need  her  ;  so 
heartbreaking  a  task  to  try  the  building  of  altars 
without  straws  for  her  bricks.  Christmas  found 
her  burnt -offering  still  unconsumed,  unaccept- 
able in  the  sight  of  God  and  man  alike  as  it 
seemed  to  her  anxious  fancy. 

One  of  Celia's  Christmas  presents  gave  her 
a  curious  sensation  of  comfort.  It  was  a  volume 
of  Stevenson,  sent  by  Dolly  Philpot,  who  was 
making  a  valiant  effort  to  improve  her  own  mind 
and,  incidentally,  Celia's  literary  taste.  Eve, 
standing  by  while  Celia  wrote  her  letter  of 
thanks,  opened  the  book  with  an  idle  finger. 
Her  eye  fell  on  a'  sentence  marked  by  Dolly's 
pencil. 

'*  Then  I  came  about  like  a  well-handled 
ship,"  it  ran.  "  There  stood  at  the  wheel  that 
unknown  steersman  whom  we  call  God." 

She  read  ho  further,  though  the  pencil -mark 
still  pointed  the  way  down  the  page.  The  words 
she  had  read  held  her  with  a  swift  fascination. 
Her  mental  image  of  burnt -offerings  and  altars 
gave  place  to  Stevenson's  metaphor  of  a  ship. 
Could  it  be  that  a  Divine  steersman  had  really 
taken  the  direction  of  the  rudderless  ship  of 
her  life?  Long  ago  she  had  relaxed  her  grip 
on  a  belief  in  a  personal  God.  Providence  had 


THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN        221 

loomed  a  dim,  uncertain  shape  in  the  back- 
ground, a  nebulous  fatality  that  dispensed  good 
and  evil  lots  from  mere  unaccountable  whim. 
If  she  had  read  Greek  the  description  of 
the  two  jars  of  Fate  would  have  attracted 
her  fancy,  but  unfortunately  her  fluid  imagina- 
tion had  never  been  crystallised  into  an  exact 
form. 

The  idea  of  a  Steersman  suddenly  dominated 
her  mind.  She  saw  Celia's  small  bark  drift 
into  her  course,  saw  the  signals  she  had  failed 
to  read,  her  failure  springing  from  idleness, 
carelessness,  egoism.  Now  that  little  ship  which 
ought  by  all  laws  of  society  to  be  a  derelict  was 
sailing  gaily  for  harbour  with  all  sails  aspread 
to  a  favouring  breeze  and  a  following  sea. 
Perhaps  the  Steersman  had  come  aboard  that 
ship  too.  Perhaps  the  lore  of  that  unknown 
pilot  was  proving  stronger  than  the  shoals  of 
heredity,  more  powerful  than  the  fierce  winds 
of  environment  which  had  done  their  worst  to 
wreck  Celia's  ship  of  life.  For  the  child  there 
was  a  near  haven  in  sight,  but  for  Eve  a  long 
and  stormy  journey  before  she  could  regain  the 
port  from  which  she  had  set  out  with  Denis  as 
her  companion. 

Idly  scanned  in  an  idle  moment,  the  words 
were  a  strong  foundation  for  a  new  philosophy 
of  life.  Her  work  then  was  not  to  build  altars, 
but  to  get  in  touch  with  the  Steersman  so  that 
she  might  answer  swiftly  to  every  turn  of  the 


222        THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN 

wheel.  Not  self-sacrifice  alone  was  to  be  her 
watchword  henceforward  ;  mingled  with  the 
spirit  of  atonement  flowed  the  desire  for  growth, 
for  self -development. 


CHAPTER    XXV 

EVE  wrestled  with  Gonds  no  more.  With  her 
mind  full  of  Celia's  case,  and  lessoned  by  the 
Rat-Catcher's  remarks  on  burdens,  she  turned 
her  thoughts  to  her  fellow -women.  It  seemed 
certain  that  she  could  not  help  Denis  with  his 
share  of  the  load,  so  she  cast  about  to  discover 
a  task  of  her  own. 

She  found  it  easily  enough,  for  the  talk  at 
the  moment  was  all  of  panaceas  for  the  ill- 
feeling  between  Indians  and  Englishmen.  Men 
spoke  solemnly  of  "  bridging  the  gulf  between 
East  and  West,"  and  gave  badminton  parties  to 
which  the  East  came  without  its  wives,  but 
enjoyed  the  untrammelled  society  of  the  white 
women  they  heartily  despised.  As  usual  in  India, 
all  the  giving  proved  to  be  the  Englishman's 
task.  He  built  the  bridge  upon  which  the  Indian 
ventured  a  doubtful  foot.  Ostensibly  the  Hindu 
and  Mohammedan  gentlemen  of  good  family  put 
aside  their  bitter  racial  prejudices  when  they 
played  clock  glolf  together  on  the  Commissioner's 
lawn.  In  glowing  periods  they  hailed  the 
approach  to  the  millennium  to  be  brought  about 


224        THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN 

by  this  new  spirit  of  affability  among  English- 
men. They  were  very  fond  of  the  word 
"  affable."  Then  they  went  home  and  talked 
eagerly  of  the  time  when  the  white  race  should 
be  left  to  its  proper  tasks  of  road-making 
and  bridge-building  and  forestry,  and  perhaps 
a  little  soldiering,  while  the  Indian  took  over 
the  government  of  his  own  country. 

Certain  Englishwomen  who  met  the  Indian 
brother  at  these  "  bridging  the  gulf  "  parties 
became  fired  with  the  desire  to  meet  the  Indian 
sister  ;  so  they  formed  a  Parda  Association  and 
held  parties  assiduously  once  a  week.  Eve  had 
joined  the  association,  but  she  never  troubled 
to  attend  its  meetings,  putting  forward  as  an 
excuse  her  ignorance  of  the  language  and 
Denis's  fear  of  enteric. 

Occasionally  her  husband's  official  position 
had  compelled  her  to  attend  one  of  the  men's 
gatherings,  and  she  went  one  day  with  Denis 
to  the  Commissioner's  garden  party.  This  time, 
instead  of  a  fixed  determination  to  be  bored,  she 
carried  with  her  a  hope  that  she  might  find 
work,  and  she  searched  the  crowded  lawns  for 
guidance. 

All  kinds  of  costumes  met  her  gaze,  satin 
coats  brocaded  with  threads  of  real  gold 
promenaded  among  ill-cut  frock-coats  of  cotton 
tweeds.  There  were  one  or  two  Parsee  ladies 
whose  floating,  gauzy  draperies  were  sewn  with 
fairy  patterns  of  butterflies  and  flowers,  but  not 


THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN        225 

a   Hindu   nor  a  Mohammedan  woman   was  to 
be   seen. 

"  Will  you  introduce  me  to  a  native,  please, 
Denis?"  requested  Eve.  "Some  one  who 
can  talk  English,  of  course." 

"  We  don't  speak  of  '  natives  '  when  we  go 
'  gulf  bridging/  "  said  Denis  dryly.  "  They  are 
Indian  gentlemen  and  our  brothers.  Here 
comes  Mr.  Justice  Chatter jee.  He  is  a  High 
Court  Judge,  and  a  high  caste  Brahman.  He 
will  be  glad  to  know  you." 

The  introduction  effected,  Eve  turned  to  walk 
by  the  side  of  the  Honourable  Mr.  Chatterjee. 
He  was  dressed  in  a  long  tight-fitting  coat  of 
black  alpaca  and  wore  a  black  pork-pie  cap  on 
his  head.  His  well-cut,  high-bred  face  was  not 
so  dark  as  many  an  Italian's  complexion.  Eve 
was  a  little  nervous  at  first,  but  Mr.  Chatterjee 's 
perfect  manner  and  his  perfect  English  accent 
soon  restored  her  confidence. 

"  I  am  afraid  I  was  out  when  you  called  this 
cold  weather,"  she  began.  "  I  found  your  cards 
in  my  box." 

"  I  was  very  sorry  to  miss  you.  I  always 
enjoy  a  chat  with  English  ladies,"  he  returned. 
"  I  admire  the  English  manners  of  furnishing, 
and  have  my  own  rooms  done  in  that  style." 

'*  Does  your  wife  like  it  too?  "  asked  Eve,  and 

then  realised  her  mistake.     She  knew  little  of 

Indian  prejudices,  but  had  learnt  at  least  that 

one  may  never  ask  after  those  who  live  behind 

15 


226        THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN 

the  parda.  The  Hindu's  impassive  face  betrayed 
no  annoyance,  he  merely  stood  still  by  a  rose- 
bush and  bent  down  to  inhale  its  fragrance. 

"Mrs.  Cardwell  has  beautiful  flowers,"  he 
remarked  benignantly. 

Eve's  apologetic  mood  vanished  into  anger. 

"  It  isn't  fair,"  she  said. 

"  Fair?  "    he    bowed   expectantly. 

"  It  isn't  fair.  You  come  to  these  parties, 
and  we  meet  you  more  than  half-way.  I  may 
not  even  speak  of  your  wife,  but  you  may  talk 
of  Mrs.  Cardwell  and  her  roses.  You  may  stroll 
with  me  alone  out  of  sight  and  out  of  hearing 
of  my  husband,  but  you  would  never  let  him 
see  your  wife,  even  in  your  presence.  Why 
should  we  Englishwomen  meet  you  natives  when 
you  don't  extend  the  same  privilege  to  our  men? 
I  am  quite  new  to  all  this  talk  of  East  and  West, 
but  it  seems  to  me  that  your  Eastern  minds 
pile  the  barriers  afresh  every  time  we  try  to 
leap  them  or  cut  them  down." 

Mr.  Chatter jee  listened  to  her  with  an  air 
of  mild  surprise. 

"  These  are  our  customs,"  he  explained,  with 
the  air  of  one  soothing  a  fractious  child, 
0  Pardon  me,  but  we  are  of  an  older  race  than 
yours,  and  our  customs  are  hoary  with  years. 
Why  should  we  alter  them  because  the  women 
of  your  race  go  unveiled  and  say  what  they  will 
to  men?  You  Englishwomen  are,  of  course, 
charming  and  preposterously  clever.  But  we 


THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN        227 

do  not  require  your  qualities  within  the  house. 
It  may  be  the  climate.  After  the  hot  and  noisy 
glare  of  an  Indian  day  we  seek  dim  coolness 
and  quiet  and  restfulness. 

"'Out  of  the  dust  and  drive  and  din 
A  nook  of  Paradise.' 

"  You  see,  we  read  your  English  poets,"  he  smiled. 
Eve  had  never  read  Henley,  and  she  was  not 
impressed  by  the  idea  of  a  Hindu  lawyer  being 
able  to  quote  from  him. 

"  You  leave  cards  on  me  once  a  year,"  she 
went  on,  *'  but  I  have  never  seen  your  wife. 
If  you  cared  to  come  and  dine  we  would  be 
delighted  to  see  you  ;  but,  of  course,  I  know 
quite  well  that  you  would  see  defilement  in  that." 

"  You  English  connect  all  social  intercourse 
with  eating,"  he  objected.  "  Every  friendly 
thought  and  action  is  but  the  excuse  for  a  dinner. 
With  us  eating  is  not  an  action  to  parade,  it 
is  not  beautiful,  and  has  nothing  of  the  soul  in 
it  ;  why,  then,  should  we  eat  in  company?  Why 
should  you  think  it  unfriendly  of  us  to  refuse 
to  eat  with  you?  " 

"  You  prove  my  point.  You  will  not  come 
any  of  the  way  to  meet  us,  will  not  relax  any  of 
the  strictness  of  your  customs  to  make  inter- 
course easy." 

"  But  do  you  relax  any  of  the  strictness  of 
your  customs?  "  he  retorted,  "  Have  you  even 
any  strict  customs  at  all?  "  Eve  was  silent. 


228        THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN 

She  felt  she  knew  so  little  of  the  matter  really, 
had  closed  her  eyes  so  long  to  the  several  atti- 
tudes of  Englishmen  and  Indians.  They  had 
come  to  a  pergola  twined  with  Marechal  Niel 
roses.  Beneath  the  yellow-starred  bower  two 
chairs  invited  to  restful  conversation,  and  a  table 
held  a'  silver  dish  of  sweets. 

"Shall  we  sit  down?"  said  Eve,  and  put 
out  her  hand  to  the  chocolates,  mechanically 
passing  the  dish  to  Mr,  Chatter jee.  She  hardly 
noticed  his  refusal  as  she  returned  to  the  charge. 
"I'm  too  ignorant  to  argue,"  she  went  on. 
"  But  one  thing  seems  clear.  The  two  races 
are  not  on  an  equality  with  regard  to  women. 
I  am  here,  and  your  wife  is  not.  I  can  under- 
stand your  not  wishing  her  to  come  to  a  big 
party  perhaps  ;  but  why  may  she  not  come  and 
call  on  me,  and  why  may  I  not  call  on  her?  Or 
if  you  are  sure  that  she  ought  not  to  come  out, 
why  do  you  call  on  me?  " 

No  Englishwoman  had  ever  spoken  to  the 
honourable  judge  in  this  manner  before.  It  was 
Eve's  very  ignorance  which  had  permitted  such 
an  attack,  and  he  felt  almost  hopeless  against  it. 
Smooth  words  he  had  heard  in  plenty  to  match 
the  smooth  speech  he  always  used  at  these 
absurd  "  bridging  the  gulf  "  parties,  but  no  one 
had  ever  ventured  to  attack  the  parda  system 
in  his  presence  and  to  allege  its  existence  as  a 
reason  against  calling  on  English  ladies.  He 
sat  woodenly  in  the  basket  chair  and  watched 


THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN        229 

Eve  nibble  chocolates  while  she  waited  for  him 
to  speak. 

"  English  ladies,  as  a  rule,  have  no  interest 
in  Indian  ladies,"  he  said  feebly. 

"  I  have.  At  least,  I  want  to  take  an  interest 
in  them.  I  am  rather  tired  of  living  our  isolated 
English  lives  out  here,  and  I  want  to  see  India 
from  within." 

"  My  family  speak  no  English," 

"  And  I  speak  no  Urdu,"  said  Eve  regret- 
fully. "  I  suppose  I  shall  have  to  learn  if  I 
want  to  do  any  good." 

"If  you  are  curious  to  inspect  a  zanana,  many 
are  open  to  you.  A  new-fashioned  family 
receives  English  ladies  and  missionaries  and 
women  doctors  and  so  on.  You  would  have 
nothing  in  common  with  my  family,  who  are  old- 
fashioned  and  do  not  care  to  receive  strangers." 
His  tone  was  polite,  but  he  had  made  his  mean- 
ing clear. 

Smiling  at  her  defeat,  Eve  rose  to  rejoin  the 
other  guests.  Mr.  Justice  Chatter jee  attended 
her  courteously  till  she  dismissed  him  with  a 
bow,  but  one  portion  of  her  argument  had  evi- 
dently convinced  him.  He  never  called  on  her 
or  on  any  other  English  lady  again. 

Taking  advantage  of  a  momentary  lull  in  the 
coming  and  going  of  guests,  Eve  stood  by  the 
side  of  her  hostess.  Mrs.  Cardwell  was  a 
woman  of  fifty,  grey -haired,  tall,  and  handsome. 
Her  capacity  for  work  was  enormous  ;  she  was 


230        THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN 

always  busy,  yet  always  gracious,  and  always 
perfectly  dressed.  As  the  Commissioner's  wife 
she  took  her  place  of  "  burra  mem,"  or  chief 
lady  in  the  station,  but  apart  from  pure'ly  social 
duties  which  she  performed  with  a  smiling  zest, 
she  was  the  chief  inspiration  of  the  feminine 
branch  of  the  East  and  West  movement.  She 
was  the  president  of  the  Parda  Association,  and 
visited  regularly  those  zananas  which  were  open 
to  English  intercourse.  In  her  work  she  was 
helped  by  her  daughter  Clare,  a  girl  as  hand- 
some as  her  mother  but  little  known  in  the  circle 
which  had  the  station  club  for  its  centre. 

"  I've  come  to  apologise,  Mrs.  Cardwell,"  said 
Eve.  "  I  have  just  been  annoying  one  of  your 
guests." 

"Judge  Chatterjee,  I  suppose?"  said  her 
hostess,  smiling.  "  What  did  you  do  to  him? 
I  saw  you  stroll  off  together." 

"  I  asked  him  if  his  wife  liked  English  furni- 
ture, and  said  dreadful  things  about  his  calling 
on  me  when  I  mightn't  call  on  her." 

"  Poor  Mr.  Chatterjee  I  He  is  the  highest 
caste  Hindu  in  the  provinces,  you  know  ;  he 
motors  down  to  the  Ganges  every  morning 
before  the  High  Court  opens  and  bathes  in  the 
sacred  waters,  summer  and  winter.  His  house — 
at  least  the  women's  quarters — are  closed  to 
English  women  ;  not  one  of  us  has  ever  seen 
his  wife.  He  says  he  does  not  wish  his  family 
to  be  upset  by  modern  ideas.  I  hope  you 


THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN        231 

weren't  too  bored  by  him  j  you  don't  really 
Care  for  this  sort  of  thing1,  do  you?  " 

"  I  haven't  cared  for  it  so  far,  but  I  really 
think  I  would  like  to  begin,  Mrs.  Cardwell ;  will 
you  help  me?  " 

The  elder  woman  Was  too  clever  to  show 
surprise.  She  took  the  request  as  a  matter  of 
course,  glad  to  welcome  a  new!  recruit  for  the 
difficult  task  certain  English  women  were  re- 
solved to  achieve. 

"  I  shall  be  delighted  if  you  will  join  us," 
she  said  warmly.  "  Will  you  begin  by  coming 
to  a  parda  party  at  my  house  on  Tuesday 
afternoon?  It  will  be  so  nice  for  Clare  if  you 
will  help  her  sometimes.  Our  most  zealous 
adherents  are  rather  of  the  missionary  type- 
dear  good  women,  but  rather  deadly.  We  want 
some  one  young  and  pretty  and  well  dressed  to 
carry  us  along." 

Eve  smiled  her  thanks  at  the  implied  compli- 
ment, and  with  a  word  of  farewell  joined  Denis 
waiting  for  her,  full  of  surprise  at  the  length  of 
time  she  had  condescended  to  devote  to  an  East 
and  West  party. 

"  I  am  going  to  join  the  Parda  Association," 
she  announced  ;  but  Denis  was  so  busy  with 
a  new  fact  about  the  Gonds  that  he  hardly 
heard  her  words,  and  certainly  did  not  reply  to 
them. 


CHAPTER    XXVI 

ON  Tuesday  afternoon,  refusing  Celia's  offer  to 
accompany  her,  Eve  set  off  with  certain  mis- 
givings and  made  her  way  to  the  Commissioner's 
bungalow.  At  the  drive  gate  a  servant  scanned 
her  with  the  severe  eye  of  one  who  suspected 
contraband  man  hidden  among  the  cushions. 
Then  the  carriage  rolled  on  unchecked  till  it 
reached  a  porch  fenced  off  with  scarlet  and 
orange  hangings  which  had  once  ceiled  a  royal 
tent. 

The  mare  shied  violently,  the  coachman  looked 
aggrieved.  There  was  no  one  in  sight,  and  when 
the  animal  had  stopped  plunging  Eve  stepped 
out  of  the  carriage  and  advanced  to  the  shut 
hangings.  A  timid  finger  found  them  impene- 
trable :  plainly  one  ought  not  to  expect  warmth 
of  welcome  at  a  par  da  party.  Skirting  the  inhos- 
pitable porch  she  invaded  the  back  premises. 
Here  the  stable-yard  hummed  with  strange 
vehicles  of  all  shapes  and  sizes,  alike  only  in 
this — that  they  could  be  hermetically  sealed  to 
protect  their  occupants  from  view. 

Still  at  a  loss,  Eve  watched  a  victoria  drive 
up.  Its  raised  hood  possessed  a  leather  attach- 


THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN        233 

ment  buttoned  on  all  round.  Cautiously  an  arm 
stole  through,  a  few  inches  unbuttoned  allowed  a 
little  light  form  to  creep  out,  an  unveiled,  un- 
jewelled  woman  standing  unashamed  in  the  sun- 
light, while  from  the  leathern  curtain  came  the 
jingle  of  silver  ornaments  and  the  twittering  of 
voices.  Again  the  curtain  was  raised  and  a 
second  figure  appeared,  shrouded  from  head  to 
foot  in  white  linen  that  outlined  the  head  tightly 
and  then  flowed  out  in  ample  folds.  The 
attendant  hurried  her  swiftly  towards  a  door 
over  which  a  screen  of  split  reeds  shook  in 
an  agitated  manner.  The  sheeted  form  was 
drawn  inside,  and  in  a  moment  a  jewelled  arm 
appeared,  to  flick  out  the  discarded  shroud  in  the 
manner  of  a  wet  bathing  dress.  "The  watchful 
attendant  picked  it  up  and  thrust  it  inside  the 
carriage  again,  whence  it  soon  emerged  conceal- 
ing a  second  figure. 

This  time  Eve  followed  the  veiled  and  the 
unveiled  woman,  finding  a  dark  and  odorous 
haven  behind  the  reed  screen.  Unshrouded,  her 
two  fellow-guests  were  shown  to  be  slim,  corn- 
hued  little  ladies  clad  in  silks  of  butterfly  texture 
and  colour  that  rebuked  her  own  English  clothes 
for  clumsiness.  Meekly  she  followed  them 
through  the  house.  At  each  doorway  there  was 
a  confused  little  scene  of  pretty  politeness  which 
made  their  progress  slow,  for  doors  were  many 
and  the  house  large  ;  but  they  won  through  at 
last  and  came  out  on  a  broad  veranda. 


234        THE   UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN 

From  this  vantage-point,  with  a  sigh  of 
relief,  Eve  espied  her  hostess,  and  she  hastened 
down  palm-bordered  steps  to  the  sunk  lawn 
which  looked  like  an  animated  bed  of  Shirley 
poppies. 

"  [What  sort  of  woman  do  you  want  to  talk 
to  first?  "  inquired  Mrs.  Cardwell,  when  she  had 
thanked  her  for  coming. 

"  Some  one  who  can  talk  English,  please," 
said  Eve  humbly.  "  I  don't  know  one  polite 
word  of  Hindustani." 

Mrs.  Cardwell  looked  round,  and  her  puzzled 
brow  lightened.  She  plunged  among  the  poppies 
and,  plucking  two  of  them  away,  presented  her 
spoil  to  Eve  with  a  hurried  pronouncing  of 
names  which  nobody  could  hear.  They  gazed  at 
each  other  in  dead  silence,  broken  at  last  by 
the  English  woman's  nervous  tones. 

"  Do  you  know,  I'm  awfully  sorry,  but  I  didn't 
catch  your  names.  Mine  is  Eve  Lang,"  she 
said. 

"I  am  Miss  Mitra,"  replied  one. 

"  I  am  Miss  Rustomji,"  echoed  the  other,  and 
their  attitude  somehow  reminded  her  of  Tweedle- 
dum and  Tweedledee.  They  were  both  very 
unpleasant  young  women  as  far  as  outward 
appearance  went.  Both  possessed  large  and 
bony  noses  on  which  straddled  spectacles  with 
brassy  rims  ;  they  wore  blouses  of  English  cut 
trimmed  with  oddments  of  cheap  lace,  and  their 
figured  silk  skirts  were  belted  in  at  the  waist. 


THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN        235 

As  they  had  not  adopted  certain  other  articles 
of  English  attire  they  had  the  look  of  emaciated 
bolsters  circumferenced  with  string.  They  fortu- 
nately had  not  adopted  English  hats,  although 
Miss  Mitra  secretly  pined  for  a  scarlet  one  with 
a  green  feather  j  but  they  wore  silk  saris  shawl- 
like  over  their  heads  and  shoulders. 

Eve  noted  their  avid,  bird-like  poise  of  head 
and  wondered  why  they  looked  so  greedy. 

"Did  you  say  Miss  Mitra?  "  she  asked 
timidly.  "  I  thought  native — I  mean  Indian — 
ladies  all  married  when  they  were  young — fear- 
fully young,  of  course  I  meant,"  she  added, 
looking  for  the  insulted  expression  which  she 
felt  must  overspread  Miss  Mitra's  countenance. 
But  a  look  of  chastened  joy  met  her  anxious 
gaze. 

"  Not  we,"  chanted  Miss  Mitra  (no  other  word 
could  fit  the  inspired  solemnity  of  her  voice). 
"  Not  we.  In  our  family  we  are  enlightened. 
Our  father  does  not  marry  us  in  childhood." 

Eve  turned  to  the  other  forbidding  young 
lady. 

"  And  you?     Have  you  come  out  of  partial  " 

"  I  am  Parsee.  Parsees  do  not  keep  par  da. 
We  ride  bicycle,  horse  even,  and  play  all  games. 
But  in  clothes  more  fitting  than  some  of  these 
par  da  ladies  who  now  play  badminton." 

Miss  Rustomji's  spectacles  glared  across  the 
lawn  where  a  little  Mohammedan  lady  played 
vigorous  badminton  in  scarlet  peg-top  trousers. 


236        THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN 

Her  partner  was  a  deaconess  of  an  Anglican 
sisterhood  and  wore  the  sad  grey  garb  of  her 
order,  but  grey  skirt  and  scarlet  trousers -legs 
leapt  and  sprang  at  the  shuttle-cock  in  gay 
accord.  East  and  West  alike  shrieked  advice  to 
the  third  on  their  side,  a  blue-eyed  Kash- 
miri cumbered  with  much-embroidered  silken 
draperies . 

Again  there  was  silence.  This  time  Miss 
Mitra's  clipped,  sing-song  accents  broke  into  it. 

"  We  are  teachers,"  she  chanted.  "  We  teach 
at  the  Princess  Memorial  Parda  School  ;  we 
love  our  work  and  our  class.  We  are  so  glad 
to  do  good." 

"  Our  class  is  so  good— such  sweet  girls," 
chimed  in  Miss  Rustomji.  "  We  have  been 
trained  in  the  Normal  School  and  have  read 
all  Psychology  and  have  taken  our  First  Arts 
examination." 

"  How  well  you  speak  English,"  said  Eve 
faintly.  She  was  overpowered  by  these  terrible 
young  women,  who  were  not  in  the  least  Indian, 
but  had  somehow  managed  to  acquire  a  flavour 
of  the  British  Board-school. 

'*  We  have  been  through  all  English,"  said 
Miss  Mitra,  "  and  we  have  read  '  Ivanhoe.'  Is 
it  not  indeed  a  beautiful  book?  " 

"I'm  dreadfully  ashamed  to  say  I  haven't 
read  it.  I  never  could  stand  Scott."  Eve's 
tone  was  final.  The  two  teachers  looked 
astonished  but  they  could  not  pursue  the  subject, 


THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN        237 

thoug-h  they  were  quite  capable  of  quoting  pages 
of  the  notes  to  their  school  edition.  "  Are  any 
of  your  pupils  here?  "  she  went  on. 

"Several  are  present,"  said  Miss  Rustomji. 
"  I  will  introduce  one  who  can  speak  English 
to  you."  Away  she  strode,  and  pounced  upon 
a  merry  little  girl  upon  whose  spirits  the 
par  da  system  did  not  seem  to  weigh.  Eve 
smiled  down  into  the  laughing  brown  eyes  and 
felt  happier. 

"  Shall  we  walk  a  little?  "  she  suggested, 
hoping  to  leave  the  unpleasant  young  women 
behind  ;  but  when  the  little  schoolgirl  turned  to 
accompany  her  across  the  la.wn,  the  two  school- 
mistresses followed. 

"  I  am  fourteen  years  old,  and  my  name  is 
Asghari,"  volunteered  the  child. 

"  Are  you  married?  "  ventured  Eve,  for  the 
second  time. 

*'  I  have  been  married  many  years,  but  I  do 
not  yet  live  with  my  husband  till  I  have  finished 
with  my  school.  I  have  not  seen  many  English 
ladies,  only  Miss  Jones  at  my  school.  She  is 
not  like  you .  I  like  your  dress,  but  your  husband 
does  not  give  you  many  jewels." 

The  child's  critical  eye  took  in  the  bracelet 
or  two  of  quiet  English  workmanship,  and  the 
thin  gold  chain  which  secured  Eve's  watch. 

"  I  have  other  jewels,  but  it  isn't  our  custom 
to  wear  them  in  the  daytime." 

"  Why?  " 


238        THE   UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN 

"  ,We  don't  think  it  looks  nice,"  said  Eve  a 
little  helplessly. 

"  Then  you  keep  them  to  receive  your  husband 
in  at  night?  But  how  can  that  be  so  when  it 
is  your  English  custom  to  wear  only  one  white 
garment  when  you  retire?  I  have  heard  much 
of  your  English  customs,  which  are  very  strange, 
with  regard  to  husbands.  Please  explain." 

"  Are  you  fond  of  reading?  "  broke  in  Eve. 

"  I  read  always.  Reading  is  my  enthusiasm. 
I  read  all  books  that  your  English  girls 
like." 

Eve  ransacked  her  memory  for  childhood's 
favourites . 

"  I  suppose  you  read  '  Little  Women  '  and 
1  The  Water-babies  '?  "  she  ventured. 

"  '  Little  Women  '?  I  do  not  know.  It  is 
Miss  Corelli  that  I  love  ;  I  read  all  Marie 
Corelli." 

Eve's  budding  affection  for  her  Indian  sister 
suffered  a  severe  blight.  She  looked  down  at 
the  high-bred  face,  the  straight,  thin  features  ; 
the  dark  hair  banded  with  a  broad  golden  fillet 
that  ended  over  the  ears  in  clustered  rubies  and 
pearls,  a  delicate  cameo  to  be  vulgarised  by 
Miss  Jones  and  Marie  Corelli.  From  behind 
came  an  approving  echo.  "  We  also  read  Marie 
Corelli,"  piped  Miss  Mitra. 

Half-drowned  in  a  sea  of  new  impressions, 
Eve  looked  round  for  succour,  and  found  it  in 
the  Commissioner's  daughter.  .  , 


THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN        239 

"  Rescue  me  from  my  Aryan  sister,"  she 
breathed,  and  found  herself  miraculously  dis- 
severed from  the  three  Indian  girls  and  con- 
veyed to  a  tea-table  which  they  might  not 
approach . 

"  The  little  Begum  isn't  shy,  is  she?  "  said 
Miss  Cardwell. 

"  Shy  1  I  was  purple  with  embarrassment  at 
one  moment,  but  it  passed  safely.  Those 
bulging  young  women  are  terrors.  Their  eyes 
bulged  and  their  brows  bulged  and  their  tummies 
bulged." 

"  Their  toes  bulge  too.  Did  you  notice  them? 
White  cotton  stockings  in  awful  bazar -made 
'  English-fashion  *  shoes  with  pointed  toes  and 
high  heels.  But,  please  don't  judge  our  par  da 
parties  by  these  specimens.  Lots  of  women  here 
who  can't  speak  English  are  perfectly  charm- 
ing. It  is  only  the  Anglicised  ones  who  are 
so  dreadful." 

"But  you're  making  out  that  our  influence 
on  them  is  bad,"  said  Eve  swiftly.  "  If  it  is, 
why  arrange  these  East  and  West  meetings?  " 

Miss  Cardwell  looked  at  a  loss  for  a  moment, 
then  she  went  on  bravely— 

"I'm  not  good  at  explaining.  You  must  ask 
mother  about  these  things.  English  influence 
can't  really  be  bad  for  those  girls,  it  is  only 
that  they  don't  understand  us  properly.  You 
see  we  may  not  have  found  the  right  way  yet, 
we  are  only  groping.  The  only  clear  point  is 


240        THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN 

that  we  Englishwomen  must  do  something  to 
pay  our  debt  to  India." 

"  I  rather  thought  India  owed  a  debt  to  us," 
objected  Eve.  "  I  know  I've  given  my  husband 
to  her.  All  his  time  and  thought  belong  to  her  ; 
I  don't  come  in  anywhere." 

"But  you  might."  A  sudden  painful  red 
leaped  into  the  girl's  cheeks.  "  Forgive  my. 
impertinence.  I've  no  right  to  speak  to  you 
like  that." 

"  You  haven't  ;  but  it  rather  pleases  me.  Go 
on  and  tell  me  my  duty  to  my  neighbour.  You 
are  nearer  to  your  Catechism  days  than  I  am." 
The  golden  voice  was  gentle,  and  the  smile  which 
had  once  charmed  Celia  hovered  on  Eve's  lips. 
She  drew  Miss  Cardwell  aside  to  a  little  encamp- 
ment under  the  trees  where  a  rug,  two  basket 
chairs,  and  a  small  table  were  set  apart. 

'*  Let's  sit  down  and  be  comfortable  and 
talk,"  she  began.  "  I  am  sure  I  am  a  nearer 
neighbour  than  Miss  Mitra  or  the  lady  in 
scarlet  trousers.  Minister  to  me.  But,  first  of 
all,  why  have  I  really  never  known  you  before?  " 

"  Because  in  your  mind  I  am  dowdy  and  dull, 
and  given  to  good  works.  There  isn't  any 
answer  to  that,  so  don't  try  to  make  one.  Good 
works  seem  so  much  more  offensive  in  India 
than  they  do  in  England;  I  can't  think  why. 
Not  that  you  thought  me  offensive  ;  I  just  didn't 
exist  except  as  a  girl  to  be  asked  to  dinner  once. 
a  year  and  to  be  given  to  a  padre  to  take  in 


THE   UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN        241 

because  presumably  he  owned  a  serious  mind  to 
match  mine." 

"  Are  you  scolding  me?  "  asked  Eve. 

"  No;  I  am  preparing  the  ground  for  a  much 
more  interesting  meeting  than  our  East  and  West 
parties." 

"  You  mean  my  frivolous  mind  with  your 
serious  one,  First  of  all,  may  I  be  frightfully 
rude  and  ask  you  why  you  took  to  the  Anglo - 
Indian  equivalent  of  slumming?  Forgive  me  ; 
but  you  know  yon  aren't  plain,  and  your  mother 
is  one  of  the  most  beautiful  women  I've  ever  met." 

"  How  naive  you  are  for  a  married  woman ! 
I  suppose  you  think  only  ugly  women  should 
peep  behind  the  par  da.  But  imagine  what  a 
horrid  impression  the  Indian  ladies  get  of  us. 
I  was  awfully  pleased  when  I  heard  you  were 
coming  to-day,  and  I  told  mother  I  hoped  you'd 
put  on  your  prettiest  dress." 

"  And  I  didn't,"  said  Eve  regretfully.  "  I  had 
an  idea  that  when  you  visited  Indian  ladies  you 
had  to  set  an  example  and  look  neat  and  not 
gaudy." 

"  Still  the  old  slumming  idea.  They  don't 
follow  examples  of  that  kind;  they  only  think 
your  husband  isn't  very  keen  on  you  and  you 
are  a  neglected  wife." 

"  That's  humiliating,  even  if  true.     Next  time 
I  shall  put  on  my  best  race  gown  and  unship  my 
tiara  and  wear  it  on  my  chest.     It's  Parisian 
diamonds,  but  they  won't  know  that." 
16 


242        THE   UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN 

"  There's  going  to  be  a  next  time  then,  in 
spite  of  Miss  Mitra  and  Marie  Corelli  as  food 
for  Indian  babes?  " 

"  I  think  so.  But  you  haven't  told  me  yet 
why  you  took  to  slumming  among  begums  and 
ranis." 

Miss  Cardwell  looked  round  the  garden  where 
the  poppies  still  flitted,  though  the  badminton 
was  over  and  the  light  was  turning  from  gold 
to  that  green  which  is  like  translucent  ocean 
water.  Eve  glanced  at  the  quiet,  ungirlish  pro- 
file, clear  cut  against  the  heavy  green  of  an 
orange-tree  that  drooped  its  golden  globes. 
The  girl's  mouth  showed  melancholy,  but  no 
peevishness,  no  petulance,  marred  its  sure  out- 
lines. Under  her  white,  rose-garlanded  hat 
heavy  black  hair  waved  towards  the  thick  knot 
at  the  base  of  her  neck.  Eve  discovered  un- 
realised beauty.  She  had  said  deprecatingly  that 
the  girl  was  not  plain,  but  she  knew  suddenly 
that  she  was  lovely.  And  yet  she  never  came 
to  the  weekly  dances  and  never  gossiped  over 
tea  on  the  Club  veranda.  The  idea  of  the  plain 
and  serious  woman  died  hard  in  Eve's  mind. 

"  I  expect  you  have  noticed  that  things  in 
India  are  never  normal,"  began  Miss  Cardwell 
slowly,  as  one  who  chose  her  words.  "  One's 
temperature  flies  up  and  down;  one's  temper  is 
queer  and  unexpected.  Some  people  get  an 
enlarged  liver.  My  liver  is  all  right,  but  I've 
grown  an  enlarged  conscience." 


THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN        243 

"An  enlarged  conscience  1  What's  that?" 
"  The  most  uncomfortable  possession  imagin- 
able. It  leads  you  to  worry  over  the  trials  of 
punkah  coolies  instead  of  sleeping  soundly  while 
they  keep  awake.  It  leads  you  to  remember  that 
your  ayah  is  a  woman  as  well  as  you  are,  makes 
you  forget  the  difference  between  East  and  West 
in  the  most  annoying  manner.  Well,  I  used  to 
go  to  dances  when  I  first  came  out,  and  I  loved 
them.  Now  I  don't  go  because  I  wouldn't  get 
partners,  for  I  don't  know  any  men.  Of  course 
I  go  to  the  big  balls  and  dance  with  the  latest - 
joined  civilians — duty  dances,  you  know.  But 
I  can't  go  to  the  little  dances  where  you  all 
fill  your  programmes  a  week  ahead  among  your 
own  inner  circle.  I  dropped  out  when  my  en- 
larged conscience  grew  too  big  to  be  borne. 
I  'd  given  it  soothing  medicines  in  the  way  of  new 
and  original  behaviour  towards  the  servants,  but 
I  only  spoiled  them  and  disturbed  the  household 
peace,  while  the  conscience  grew  larger  and 
more  irritable  day  by  day.  So  then  I  tried  to 
combine  the  East  and  the  West  ;  tried  dabbling 
in  slum  work,  so  to  speak  ;  but  I  did  neither 
properly,  and  my  conscience  went  on  troubling." 
She  paused  a  little  and  Eve  took  up  her  tale. 

"So  you  threw  over  the  West  and  went  to 
live  permanently  in  the  East  end.  I'm  interested 
in  that  conscience  of  yours  ;  however  enlarged, 
it  doesn't  seem  adequate  somehow."  Her  quiz- 
zical eyes  searched  Miss  Cardwell's  face. 


244        THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN 

"  There  wasn't  a  young  man  ;  no  broken  hearts 
or  seared  lives  figure  in  my  history.  I'm  not  a 
bit  romantic,  dear  Mrs.  Lang.  It  wasn't  love  that 
drove  me  into  the  East  end,  as  you  call  it." 
She  rose  rather  hastily  ;  her  face  was  turned 
away,  but  Eve  heard  emotion  in  h;er  voice.  The 
guests  were  dispersing,  and  Mrs.  Cardwell  stood 
at  the  veranda  steps  while  the  gay  little  figures 
fluttered  past  in  the  gathering  dusk. 

"  I  ought  to  be  with  mother,"  she  went  on, 
moving  away  from  the  trees  ;  but  Eve  caught 
her  arm. 

"  I  really  want  to  learn,"  she  pleaded.  "  Tell 
me." 

Miss  Cardwell  faced  round  suddenly,  and  in 
the  dim  green  light  Eve  saw  with  a  shock  of 
surprised  remorse  that  the  girl's  face  was  torn 
with  passionate  emotion. 

"  Don't  you  really  know?  "  she  Cried. 
"  Haven't  you  heard?  Surely  it  is  common 
gossip  that — that  I  have  their  blood  in  my  veins? 
That  I'm  what  you  call  '  black,'  with  a  lift  of 
your  eyebrows  and  a  half -pity  ing  whisper  in  the 
next  woman's  ears.  Not  black  enough  to  be 
taboo,  of  course  ;  and  besides,  my  father  is  the 
Commissioner  and  my  mother  was  never  in 
India  till  she  came  out  to  be  married,  which  all 
counts  in  my  favour." 

Eve  remembered  a  half-forgotten  fleer  of 
Connie  Young's.  "  A  good  old  Indian  county 
family,"  she  had  said  of  Mr.  Cardwell.  The 


THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN        245 

Cardwell  family  had  served  India  steadily,  father 
and  son,  for  generations,  and  in  the  early  days 
one  of  them  had  married  a  woman  of  the  country. 
And  some  drops  of  her  blood  still  cried  out  in 
Clare  Cardwell  and  drove  her  towards  an 
imagined  duty.  Indian  women  were  her  kin, 
and  she  must  go  to  meet  them,  welcome  them, 
help  them  in  all  the  ways  an  Englishwoman  can 
devise. 

"  No  one  ever  called  you  black,"  cried  Eve. 
"  You  aren't  a  scrap  coloured.  You  are  talking 
absolute  nonsense."  Miss  Cardwell  turned  sad 
eyes  upon  her.  Passion  had  flared  out  and  died 
down,  and  her  voice  was  flat  when  she  spoke 
again. 

"  I  don't  think  mother  has  the  least  idea.  It 
just  came  to  me  one  day  and  I  knew  it  was  true, 
but  I've  never  spoken  to  anybody  of  it  before 
to-day.  You  mustn't  think  I  grieve  over  it.  I 
did  at  first,  but  now  all  I  feel  is  that  I've  got 
to  do  everything  I  can  to  make  better  feeling 
between  Englishmen  and  Indians,  and  you  can 
only  do  that  through  the  women  just  at  present, 
and  that's  my  work.  You  can  help.  You're 
lovely  and  sweet  and  gracious,  and  you  could 
do  more  in  a  day  to  reconcile  a  parda  lady 
to  our  English  customs  than  an  ugly,  dowdy 
woman  could  do  in  a  year.  Mrs.  Lang,  don't 
leave  it  all  to  the  plain  women,  the  dowdy 
women,  and  the  women  with  black  blood  in  their 
veins.  You've  got  everything,  give  something  : 


246        THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN 

not  money — they're  richer  than  we  are — but  time 
and  thought  and  just  a  bit  of  comprehension." 
Passion  had  crept  into  her  voice  again,  but  a 
passion  tinged  with  hope.  They  had  paced 
slowly  across  the  lawn  as  Clare  spoke,  and  her 
mother  caught  the  last  words. 

"  Don't  let  Clare  overwhelm  you,"  she  said 
kindly.  "  I  am  so  glad  to  see  you  here,  and  I 
hope  you  will  come  again.  The  language  is, 
of  course,  the  difficulty;  it  means  learning  a 
new  one." 

"  Yes,"  returned  Eve.  "  It  means  learning 
a  new  language,  and  I  have  had  my  first  lesson 
to-day."  She  grasped  Clare's  hand  with  a  firm 
pressure,  looked  into  her  mournful  eyes,  and  went 
thoughtfully  away. 


CHAPTER    XXVII 

EVE  went  home  and  asked  an  astonished 
husband  to  engage  a  munshi  for  her  as  the 
next  necessary  step  in  her  new  career.  The 
feeling  of  repulsion  aroused  by  Miss  Mitra 
surged  up  once  more  when  she  was  introduced 
to  Muhammad  Hussein,  munshi,  salaaming  on 
her  veranda.  Celia  flatly  refused  to  join  the 
class  at  the  first  sight  of  him. 

He  was  buttoned  up  as  tightly  as  Mr.  Noah 
in  a:  long  coat  of  flaring  checks.  Round  his 
neck  he  wore  2  woollen  muffler  knitted  in  shriek- 
ing orange  and  magenta  stripes.  His  shoes  he 
had  left  outside  on  the  lowest  step,  but  his  feet 
were  sketchily  covered  with  purple  and  green 
socks  fhat  allowed  a  large  brown  toe  to  escape 
here  and  there.  Fat  beads  of  perspiration 
trickled  from  beneath  his  greasy  black  pork -pie 
hat  and  spread  slowly  down  his  pock-marked 
visage  till  he  wiped  them  away  with  the  ends 
of  his  muffler.  Eve  grew  to  hate  the  several 
uses  of  that  muffler  long  before  she  had  mastered 
the  elements  of  her  Hindustani  grammar.  In 
this  she  progressed  slowly  and  painfully,  toiling 
M 


248        THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN 

through  the  interminable  adventures  of  the  stock 
Urdu  novel  for  beginners.  Even  students  of 
Italian  who  have  ploughed  through  "  I  promessi 
Sposi  "  and  fainted  by  the  way,  can  have  no 
idea  of  the  intricate  bypaths  in  which  the  Urdu 
student  wanders  when  he  reads  "  The  Repent- 
ance of  Nasuh." 

But  Eve  read  it,  every  word  from  the  last  page 
to  the  first  in  her  effort  to  atone  for  Celia's 
hurt  soul  and  to  make  herself  fit  for  the  Steers- 
man's guiding  hand.  In  some  vague,  illogical 
fashion  of  her  own  she  felt  that  the  flame  of 
her  sacrifice  was  fed  by  the  munshi's  perspiration 
and  his  violent  socks,  whose  unchanging  pattern 
arid  hue  suggested  uncomfortable  doubts  con- 
cerning wash-day.  She  could  not  actually  help 
Celia  by  these  trivial  pains,  but  she  could  atone 
for  earlier  thoughtlessness  and  make  herself 
more  apt  for  the  Steersman's  guidance. 

Meantime  she  did  not  lose  sight  of  Clare 
Cardwell,  who  took  her  into  the  native  city  on 
voyages  of  discovery.  At  first  she  held  her 
peace  and  listened  to  Clare  talking  to  their 
Indian  hostesses,  but  presently  her  stumbling 
tongue  began  to  pick  its  way  along  the  difficult 
path  of  Urdu  conversation,  and  she  felt  with  a 
glow  of  surprise  that  her  words  were  intelligible. 

Eve's  new  way  of  life  had  one  immediate 
result.  It  attracted  her  husband's  attention  to 
her.  Denis  Lang  had  not  leisure  enough  to 
learn  to  understand  women.  After  the  slight 


THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN        249 

shock  of  disappointment  in  their  first  married 
years,  when  he  realised  that  his  wife  took 
no  interest  in  the  work  which  filled  his  heart, 
he  had  resigned  any  struggle  to  win  what  she 
could  not  give  spontaneously.  He  had  left  her 
to  stand  alone  without  strength  or  knowledge 
to  assist  her  difficult  Indian  days.  Her  fatal 
leisure  had  done  the  rest,  and  but  for  Celia's 
coming  Eve  might  have  gone  under.  But  she 
was  too  good  to  lose,  and  day  by  day  was  re- 
gaining the  captaincy  of  her  soul. 

Denis's  perceptions,  slow  to  mark  anything 
not  directly  connected  with  his  work,  began  to 
detect  a  strangely  uncomfortable  change  in  the 
even  flow  of  his  domestic  life.  His  wife  took  not 
the  faintest  interest  in  his  ethnological  studies 
(except  on  one  occasion  when  she  unaccountably 
spoke  of  the  Gonds  in  a  moment  of  fever),  but  her 
housekeeping  was  ever  beyond  reproach.  When 
he  had  time  to  come  home  to  tea  she  was  always 
to  be  found  calm  and  cool  and  well  dressed, 
sitting  in  her  delightful  drawing-room.  Of 
course,  there  was  usually  some  man  or  other 
by  her  side,  but  he  realised  the  truth  of 
her  earlier  complaints  that  it  bored  her  to 
drink  tea  alone,  and  he  was  wont  to  accept  her 
guests  in  silence. 

And  now  some  inexplicable  change  seemed 
to  be  working  a  mild  havoc.  Celia  had  gone  to 
spend  a  week  or  two  with  John's  sister  who 
lived  in  Calcutta,  and  Eve  always  seemed  busy. 


250        THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN 

Several  days  he  came  home  from  office,  tired 
and  thirsty,  to  find  the  drawing-room  empty  and 
no  sign  of  tea.  It  arrived  presently,  summoned 
by  an  angry  shout,  but  the  kettle  had  not  boiled 
and  the  cake  looked  tired  and  tasted  mouldy. 
At  dinner-time  his  wife  appeared,  wearing  what 
his  ignorant  eyes  took  to  be  a  dressing-gown 
in  bad  disrepair.  It  was  really  a  tea -gown  which 
the  normal  Eve  would  have  presented  to  her 
ayah  months  before. 

"  I  was  in  to  tea  to-day,"  he  remarked,  with  a 
trace  of  reproach  that  passed  unnoticed. 

"  Were  you?  I  had  tea  with  the  Zanana 
Mission  ladies.  Miss  Cardwell  took  me.  By 
the  way,  I  shan't  be  in  to  breakfast  to-morrow, 
either.  We  are  going  into  the  city  to  visit  a 
little  Mohammedan  lady  she  knows." 

"  I  don't  like  your  going  poking  about  the 
city  so  much,"  said  her  husband  uneasily.  *'  If 
you  want  to  see  it,  I'll  borrow  Ali's  elephant 
and  you  can  get  some  one  to  take  you  round 
on  it." 

"  Ali's  elephant  can't  penetrate  the  pjarda, 
It's  the  inside  I  want  to  see,  and  I'm  not  afraid. 
For  myself  anyhow.  I  never  take  Celia." 

"  But  I   am.     Suppose  you  get  smallpox?  " 

"  You  went  into  the  middle  of  plague  and 
cholera." 

"  And  so  did  poor  Macintyre,"  returned  Denis 
soberly.  "  But  of  course  you  will  have  your 
way.  See  that  you  get  something  to  eat  before 


THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN        251 

you  go,  and  don't  try  to  do  zananas  fasting. 
By  the  way,  when  is  your  next  dinner-party? 
iWe  don't  seem  to  have  given  one  for  weeks,  and 
the  Secretaries  will  be  going  away  soon." 

Eve  was  idly  smoothing  out  the  rose-petals 
that  floated  in  her  finger-bowl.  She  looked  up 
in  astonishment  at  her  husband's  words. 

"  Fancy  you  worrying  about  dinners  !  "  she 
said  as  she  rose.  -*'  I've  been  so  busy  with  my 
Indian  sisters  that  I've  forgotten  all  about  the 
station.  Are  you  not  going  to  work  to-night?  " 
she  questioned  as  he  followed  her  into  the 
drawing-room  instead  of  turning  aside  into  his 
study . 

"  No  ;  I  think  I'll  have  an  evening  off  and 
talk  to  you.  You  must  be  lonely  now  Celia  is 
away."  He  took  a  coffee-cup  and  a  cigarette 
from  two  Waiting  servants  and  proceeded  to 
settle  down  at  her  side.  "•  Why  are  you  wear- 
ing this  weird  garment?  "  he  went  on,  touching 
the  faded  and  crumpled  folds  of  the  old  tea- 
gown. 

She  looked  down  vaguely  at  her  despised 
dress. 

44  Oh,  it  wa's  easy  to  get  into  and  I  dressed 
myself  this  evening.  The  ayah  seemed  to  have 
a  little  fever,  so  I  let  her  go." 

44  Eve,  dear,  are  you  sure  you  are  perfectly 
well?  "  His  tone  was  so  full  of  anxiety  that  Eve 
woke  up  and  burst  into  sudden  laughter. 

44  You   don't   mean   to   say   you've   looked   at 


252        THE   UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN 

me  long  enough  to  realise  what  clothes  I'm  wear- 
ing !  Denis,  you're  noticing  me  I  You  haven't 
done  that  for  six  years — not  since  the  first  few 
months  after  we  were  married." 

He  flushed  uneasily  with  an  entirely  new  feel- 
ing of  shame.  He  had  always  prided  himself  on 
doing  his  duty  towards  India.  Had  he  neglected 
his  duty  towards  his  wife? 

"Did  you — did  you  want  to  be  noticed?" 

"  Want  to  be  noticed  !  What  woman  doesn't? 
How  funny  and  ignorant  you  are,  you  learned 
men  who  know  all  about  stuffy  Indian  tribal 
marriage  customs,  and  don't  know  the  first 
principles  of  how  to  treat  the  one  wife  society 
allows  you.  Of  course  I  wanted  to  be  noticed, 
but  you  have  always  been  too  busy  to  spare 
time  for  an  uneducated  woman  who  couldn't 
share  your  work.  Because  I  couldn't  enter  into 
the  interests  which  were  the  very  centre  of  your 
life  you  chased  me  away  even  from  the  out- 
skirts. I  don't  think  I  minded  very  much  after 
the  first,  for  there  was  always  some  one  else 
to  care  and  to  notice  how  I  looked  and  what 
I  wore.  I  didn't  care,  because  I  was  asleep  and 
my  conscience  nearly  dead ;  but  something 
happened  one  day  and  woke  me  with  a  jar — a 
perfectly  horrid  jar,  Denis." 

She  turned  towards  him  with  a  shiver,  and 
he  saw  that  her  beautiful  eyes  swam  with  tears. 
In  his  famine  work  Denis  had  grown  accustomed 
to  deal  with  the  Indian  peasant  woman  who 


THE   UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN        253 

wanted  a  dole  of  work  or  had  abandoned  a 
child  in  the  time  of  stress  and  desired  the 
Collector-Sahib  to  find  it  again  for  her  when 
the  starvation  pressure  lifted.  He  knew  how 
to  deal  with  her  firmly  and  justly,  but  he  was 
quite  at  a  loss  what  to  do  with  Eve,  who  huddled 
in  the  corner  of  her  sofa  and  gazed  up  at  him 
with  wet  eyes.  Tears  had  been  an  unknown 
factor  in  their  life  together  since  those  first  few 
uncomfortable  months  when  they  had  tried  to 
adapt  themselves  in  vain. 

He  left  his  chair  and  took  the  other  corner 
of  the  sofa. 

"  I  am  afraid  you  aren't  happy,  dear,"  he 
said  gently.  "  Are  you  not  well?  Or  perhaps 
you  miss  Celia?  " 

"I'm  perfectly  well,  and  I  don't  miss  Celia. 
I  was  delighted  that  she  should  go  to  Calcutta 
and  see  another  bit  of  India.  It  is  you  I  miss." 

Denis   was   frankly  puzzled. 

"  I  have  seen  less  of  you  this  year  than  I  ever 
have  before,"  he  said.  "  You  are  always  out 
at  zanana  meetings  or  in  the  city,  and  yet  you 
say  you  miss  me  when  you  deliberately  leave  the 
house  at  the  very  hour  I  come  home." 

"  Don't  you  see  what  I'm  trying  to  do, 
Denis?  "  she  cried  impatiently.  "  If  I  go  out 
it  is  because  I  am  trying  to  grow  like  Clare 
Cardwell  and  help  the  Indians." 

"  Goo'd  heavens  1  "  ejaculated  Denis,  really 
startled  at  last.  "  But  I  don't  want  you  like 


254        THE   UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN 

Miss  Cardwell.  I  like  you  better  as  you  are. 
As  my  wife  you  have  got  social  duties  to  per- 
form, and  your  sudden  zanana  craze  seems  to 
have  turned  you  blind  and  deaf— blind  to  new 
hats  and  frocks,  and  deaf  to  the  needs  of  Chief 
Secretaries  who  are  simply  clamouring  to  be 
asked  to  dinner." 

"  Chief  Secretaries  never  clamour  for  any- 
thing, except  perhaps  bed  at  half-past  nine," 
put  in  Eve  contemptuously.  Then  she  sighed 
and  went  on  in  a  graver  mood,  "  We  were 
discussing  the  Anglo-Indian  woman's  handicap 
at  the  mission -house  to-day.  Miss  Cardwell  said 
it  was  leisure.  Miss  Sharpe — who  is  fat,  poor 
thing,  and  not  a  bit  strong — said  it  was  getting 
tired  sooner  than  men  do.  I  said  we  were 
handicapped  by  duty.  They  were  awfully 
shocked,  and  being  unmarried  they  couldn't 
understand  even  when  I  explained.  You  see, 
duty  pulls  me  in  a  dozen  different  directions. 
I've  got  my  duty  to  the  boy  and  to  you.  I've 
also  got  my  duty  to  my  Indian  sister,  who 
is  often  extremely  insanitary  in  her  household 
and  nurtures  up  germs  of  smallpox  and  enteric 
for  the  benefit  of  her  English  guest.  Now  the 
question  is  this — ought  my  duty  to  my  small  son 
to  swallow  up  my  duty  to  Mrs.  Moti  Lai  and  her 
kind?  Does  one  duty  render  the  other  im- 
possible? Again,  if  I  attend  to  all  the  garden- 
parties  and  teas  and  dinners  which  my  duty 
to  my  English  neighbour  commands  me  to  give 


THE  UNKNOWN   STEERSMAN        255 

and  to  receive,  I  haven't  time  for  my  Indian 
neighbour." 

"  Can't  you  leave  Mrs.  Moti  Lai  and  her  kind 
to  unmarried  women  like  Clare  Cardwell  and  the 
missionaries?  " 

"  No,"  cried  Eve  despairingly.  "  It  is  just 
what  you  can't  do.  Indian  ladies  won't  really 
listen  to  an  unmarried  woman.  In  their  eyes  a 
woman  without  a  husband  either  living  or  dead 
is  an  outrage  on  nature.  They  accept  with  per- 
fect politeness  our  explanation  that  all  English- 
women do  not  want  to  marry  and  that  no  stigma 
attaches  to  the  elderly  girl.  But  they  don't 
believe  a  word  of  it,  and  gossip  among  them- 
selves as  to  the  horrid  reasons  why  no  man  could 
be  persuaded  to  marry  the  saintly  Mission  Miss 
Sahib  who  has  just  been  instructing  them  in  the 
care  of  their  babies.  Children  mean  everything 
to  an  Indian  woman,  and  she  can't  understand 
a  society  that  wilfully  remains  unmarried.  Tell 
her  there  aren't  enough  men  to  go  round  and  she 
smiles  at  the  stupidity  which  refuses  more  than 
one  wife.  No,  Denis,  an  Englishwoman  ought 
to  be  married  before  she  can  do  much  good  in  a 
zanana  ;  but  if  you  are  a  married  missionary 
there's  the  housekeeping  duty  and  the  duty 
towards  the  baby  to  pull  you  back  from  your 
duty  to  the  zanana.  So  it's  all  a  vicious  circle. 
Unmarried  you're  valueless,  married  you  become 
too  valuable,  and  duty  handicaps  you  at  every 
turn." 


256        THE   UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN 

"  It  never  struck  me  before  that  you  were  the 
kind  of  woman  to  worry  over  duty,"  said  Denis, 
looking  curiously  at  his  wife. 

"  I  never  have  worried  before.  I  did  my  duty 
to  the  house  because  I  hated  being  uncomfort- 
able, and  I  was  proud  that  people  could 
admire  my  drawing-room  and  envy  my  well- 
trained  servants.  It  was  only  a  form  of 
luxurious  conceit.  But  I  never  did  my  duty 
to  you." 

Denis  stirred  uneasily.  He  was  beginning  to 
think  that  perhaps  duty  had  been  his  handicap 
also.  The  ethnological  research  which  had  filled 
his  spare  hours,  the  famine  work  of  which  he 
had  been  so  proud — all  his  piled  ambitions 
dwindled  strangely  now  in  face  of  Eve's 
problems,  her  lonely  groping  after  a  dim  seen 
truth. 

"  You  have  been  a  perfect  wife "  he  began, 

but  Eve  checked  his  stumbling  avowal. 

"  I  haven't  1  "  she  cried  passionately.  "  I've 
let  other  men  kiss  me  since  I  married  you.  I 
even  fell  in  love  with  one  of  them,  but  he  got 
tired  of  me  and  it's  all  over  now." 

There  was  silence  for  some  grim  moments 
while  each  looked  back  into  the  past.  Denis 
came  back  first. 

"  Was  that  the  shock  you  spoke  of  ?  "  he 
questioned  hoarsely. 

"No.  That  made  me  long  to  be  bad,  not 
good.  I  can't  tell  you  about  that,  it  is  some- 


THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN        257 

body  else's  story.  I  didn't  mean  to  work  myself 
up  to  confessions  to-night  or  to  hurt  your  peace  ; 
I  only  longed  to  explain  to  you  that  I'm  trying 
so  hard  to  be  different,  and  I  think  I'd  get  on 
better  if  I  had  your  help.  Denis,  can't  we  bury 
everything  and  start  afresh?  " 

Denis  sat  silent,  trying  to  reconstruct  a 
crumbled  world.  After  the  first,  he  had  taken 
for  granted  that  wives— pretty  wives,  at  any 
rate — had  no  time  for  sympathy  with  their 
husbands'  work.  Again  unmarried  women,  ugly 
women,  might  cultivate  a  serious  mind,  but  a 
pretty  woman  was  a  fixed  star  in  the  social 
scheme.  She  must  not  wander  behind  the  par  da 
or  take  an  inconvenient  interest  in  zanana 
missions.  Slumming  had  had  its  fashionable 
moments  at  home  in  England,  but  it  could  never 
attract  the  leisure  of  feminine  Anglo -India.  Eve, 
therefore,  was  leaving  her  own  orbit.  She  had 
passed  from  flirtation — he  ground  his  teeth  at 
the  thought  of  the  unknown  man's  kisses — to 
the  hopeless  outer  darkness  of  zanana  work. 
He  would  not  ask  for  the  man's  name,  and  he 
would  not  let  himself  think  that  it  might  have 
been  Staniforth. 

He  looked  suddenly  at  his  wife  and  traced 
again  in  her  the  innocent  untouched  contours  of 
the  girl  he  had  married.  Something  of  the 
meaning  of  his  gaze  became  clear  to  Eve. 

"It  was  my  body  you  married,  not  my 
mind,"  she  said.  "  And  my  mind  has  been 
17 


258        THE  UNKNOWN   STEERSMAN 

starved  all  these  six  years,,  Now  when  I've 
goaded  and  prodded  it  awake  and  I'm  trying 
to  feed  it  into  life,  you  suddenly  realise  my 
body's  old  clothes  and  you  hope  I'm  not  going 
to  turn  serious.  Is  it  all  hopeless,  Denis?  Can't 
we  begin  again?  Can  you  forgive  my  aim- 
lessness  and  those  hateful  kisses?  I've  tried  so 
hard  lately.  I  didn't  succeed  with  those  Gonds 
of  yours — I  seem  to  be  too  stupid  for  them, 
somehow  ;  but  I  really  have  done  something  to 
help  Mrs.  Cardwell,  and  after  all  I  gave  you 
Dicky." 

Looking  at  her,  Denis  suddenly  realised  that 
his  forgotten  love  for  his  wife  was  still  quick 
in  him.  The  primitive  man  was  buried  deep 
under  mounds  of  Government  files  and  tribal 
customs  of  Gonds,  but  it  stirred  at  the  second 
mention  of  another  man's  kisses.  Gloomily  he 
looked  back  at  his  life  and  reviewed  its  apparent 
success  that  was  convicted  of  failure  by  his  wife's 
confession.  He  had  lost  the  true  proportions 
of  things  ;  the  past  rose  before  him  in  enor- 
mous disarray,  yet  Eve  spoke  of  hope  for  the 
future. 

He  looked  at  her  with  new  eyes,  and  suddenly 
he  knew  that  the  living  woman  and  the  child 
were  worth  more  than  all  the  dry  bones  he  had 
collected  so  laboriously.  He  thanked  God  that 
it  was  not  too  late  ;  that  the  future  might  yet 
atone  for  the  past.  Then  he  rose  and  took 
his  wife  in  his  arms.  Eve  found  his  kisses  of 


THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN        259 

a  marvellous  sweetness,  and  her  second  wooing 
dearer  to  her  heart  than  her  first  could  ever 
be,  for  she  was  a  woman  now  and  no 
raw  girl. 


CHAPTER    XXVIII 

THE  unexpected  readjustment  of  Eve's  life  did 
not  keep  her  at  home  to  breakfast  next  morning. 
After  anxious  thought  she  decided  not  to  send 
a  disappointing  note  of  excuse  to  Miss  Cardwell, 
for  there  were  plenty  of  days  in  the  future  for 
domestic  breakfasts.  But  she  was  careful  to 
disarrange  the  unimaginative  dinner  menu 
offered  by  the  cook,  and  to  order  a  more 
interesting  meal  than  usual. 

She  was  just  a  little  tired  as  she  climbed 
into  Miss  Cardwell's  dog-cart,  for  she  had 
hurried  through  the  housekeeping  duties  to  be 
ready  in  time.  She  missed,  too,  the  comforting 
shelter  of  her  own  carriage,  for  the  white -petti  - 
coated  umbrella  held  by  the  groom  on  the  back 
seat  swayed  anywhere  but  over  their  heads. 
Clare  did  not  appear  to  mind  the  sun,  and  she 
talked  gaily  of  zananas  as  the  cart  swung  down 
the  dusty  city  road  cumbered  with  lumbering 
bullock -wagons  and  jingling  ekkas. 

Presently  they  drove  under  the  echoing  rail- 
way bridge  that  served  as  city  gate,  and  into 
the  seething  thoroughfare  of  the  chief  street. 


THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN        261 

Smells  and  dust  and  shoutings  filled  nose  and 
ears.  Eyes  were  widely  busy  with  the  colours 
that  veered  and  blended  and  changed  with  the 
moving  crowd.  If  the  par  da  party  had  looked 
like  a  bed  of  Shirley  poppies,  the  cruder  hues 
worn  by  the  city  wayfarers  recalled  the  garish 
splendour  of  tulips.  The  sun,  high  and  golden 
in  the  unclouded  turquoise  sky,  shone  upon 
vessels  of  winking  brass  and  turned  them  also 
into  pure  gold.  Brown  men  stood  chaffering 
outside  the  little  cubes  that  served  as  shops, 
where  the  master  squatted  on  the  floor  and 
selected  his  goods  at  will  without  rising,  for 
each  shelf  was  within  reach  of  an  outstretched 
hand.  Brown  faces  flashed  by  in  every  grada- 
tion of  tone,  from  the  dense  chocolate  of  the 
naked  coolie  to  the  sickly  yellow  of  the  Bengali 
student,  whose  fat  bare  legs  escaped  the  flutter- 
ing sheaths  of  his  waist-cloth  to  meet  the  final 
thraldom  of  patent-leather  slippers.  A  camel, 
bestridden  by  an  Indian  soldier  in  blue  and 
scarlet  uniform,  padded  silently  along,  looking 
left  and  right  with  benignant  eyes  that  were 
contradicted  by  the  slack  and  evil  mouth  of  its 
kind.  Bells  tinkled  from  the  blue  and  scarlet 
cap  that  perched  coquettishly  on  the  camel's 
nodding  head  and  its  gay  saddle-cloth  bore  a 
regimental  crest.  Eve  recognised  the  embroi- 
dered numerals  for  those  of  Staniforth's 
regiment.  A  bare  year  ago  just  such  a  mes- 
senger had  been  wont  to  stop  almost  daily 


262        THE   UNKNOWN   STEERSMAN 

beneath  her  porch.  She  remembered  the  first 
day  that  the  letter  in  the  sowar's  pouch  had 
borne  Celia's  name  instead  of  her  own.  To-day 
for  the  first  time  that  wound  had  ceased  to 
ache,  and  she  could  be  glad  that  Celia  had 
unwittingly  delivered  her  from  temptation.  Thus 
far  she  had  arrived  in  her  thoughts  when  Miss 
Cardwell  pulled  up  her  pony,  and  the  groom, 
furling  the  useless  umbrella,  jumped  to  the 
ground. 

"  The  road  is  too  narrow  to  drive  any 
further,"  said  Clare.  "  I  hope  you  don't  mind 
walking."  Eve  looked  up  the  close,  dark  alley 
that  faced  them,  and  her  zeal  for  zanana  visits 
burnt  low  for  a  moment.  Blank  mud  walls  shut 
out  the  sunlight,  the  broken  flags  held  dirty 
water  in  their  hollows,  and  in  the  middle  of 
the  alley  ran  an  open  drain,  where  a  grimy 
duck  hunted  for  its  noisome  meal  of  offal.  A 
foul,  sour  odour  seemed  to  rise  and  meet  them 
in  a  solid  mass. 

"  Does  she  really  live  up  there?  "  Eve's 
question  betrayed  involuntary  disgust,  and  for 
a  moment  her  companion  regretted  this  choice 
of  visits  ;  but  Mrs.  Lang  had  seemed  so  enthu- 
siastic, and  was  such  a  precious  asset  to  the 
plain  and  unmarried  members  of  the  Parda 
Club.  She  must  not  be  wasted. 

Side  by  side  the  two  picked  their  way  along 
the  filthy  drain,  till  at  last  a  dark  oblong  in 
the  eyeless  walls  showed  a  low  wooden  door. 


THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN        263 

At  Clare's  knock  it  was  opened  by  a  repulsive 
old  man,  who  received  them  coldly  and  pointed 
along  a  narrow  passage.  So  narrow  was  it 
that  Eve,  hastening  after  her  guide,  shivered 
to  feel  her  shoulders  brush  the  greasy  wall. 
It  was  too  dark  to  see  the  state  of  the  floor, 
but  her  toes  crisped  up  inside  her  thin  shoes, 
that  seemed  to  be  treading  on  unimaginable 
horrors.  A  winding  staircase  proved  even  more 
nervous  work,  for  the  steps  were  so  steep  that 
the  most  careful  manipulation  could  not  keep 
petticoats  away  from  a  surface  slippery  with 
dirt. 

But  at  last  they  climbed  a  final  flight  of 
stone  steps,  and  emerged  into  the  comparative 
airiness  of  an  ante-room  with  brilliant  blue  walls 
enriched  by  a  scarlet  dado,  its  only  furniture 
a  string  bedstead.  The  women's  apartments 
were  built  high  above  a  well-like  courtyard,  into 
which  their  doors  and  windows  looked.  Nothing 
but  the  gleaming  oblong  of  sky  that  roofed  the 
courtyard  spoke  of  the  outside  world  ;  not  a 
green  thing  flourished  in  the  grey  cage. 

Through  the  ante -room  they  passed  to  a 
balcony  which  clung  half-way  between  the 
bottom  of  the  well  and  the  sky.  And  here 
there  pattered  forward  a  brilliant  little  figure, 
with  emerald  plush  trousers  of  exaggerated  peg- 
top  shape  and  a  floating  veil  embroidered  with 
gold  and  silver. 

The  usual  compliments  safely  delivered,   the 


264        THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN 

hostess  eyed  Eve  with  the  frankest  amuse- 
ment. 

"  I  never  met  a  married  one  before,"  she 
remarked. 

"  A  married  one?  "  queried  Eve. 

"Yes,  a  married  Englishwoman.  Certainly 
many  come — the  Mission  Miss  Sahibs  and  this 
Miss  Sahib  ;  I  have  seen  them  all,  but  no  man 
marries  them.  Perhaps  Your  Honour  will  now 
speak  a  true  word.  Why  is  no  marriage 
arranged  for  these  folk?  Certainly  they  are 
unbeautiful,  but  all  eyes  do  not  see  alike.  Some 
man,  old,  perhaps,  and  not  rich,  could  be  found 
to  take  away  their  reproach." 

•"  But  all  Englishwomen  do  not  want  to  be 
married,"  pleaded  Eve. 

"  That  is  nonsense  talk,"  said  Mrs.  AH  Khan 
decisively.  "  Of  necessity  there  is  some  reason 
why  they  cannot  find  a  man.  Yet,  ignorant  and 
barren,  they  come  to  teach  me  who  have  borne 
five  sons.  They  speak  to  me  of  the  shame  of 
sitting  behind  the  parda,  yet  my  veiled  face  has 
looked  upon  the  father  of  my  sons,  while  they 
walk  openly  in  the  streets  and  cannot  find  a 
man.  Which  is  the  greater  shame,  think  you — 
to  be  seen  of  all  men  and  not  to  be  chosen, 
or  to  be  seen  of  one  alone  and  to  bear  five 
sons?  " 

In  her  embarrassment  Eve  turned  to  Clare  for 
help.  But  the  girl  sat  silent  in  her  broken 
wooden  chair,  and  the  yearning  sorrow  in  her 


THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN         265 

still  face  made  Eve  think  of  a  mourning 
Madonna.  Each  word  of  the  Indian  woman 
must  have  fallen  like  a  blow  on  the  heart  of 
the  girl  who  had  renounced  motherhood  from  a 
scruple  of  conscience.  And  not  so  much 
motherhood  was  it  that  she  forswore,  for  that 
abstract  idea  seldom  appeals  to  youth  ;  but  she 
had  renounced  the  companionship,  the  help,  the 
comfort  of  a  man  and  had  chosen  loneliness. 
And  arrogantly  the  fertile  mother  mocked  at 
the  efforts  of  her  who  remained  barren  by 
choice. 

In  the  moment  of  silence  Mrs.  Ali  Khan's 
passion  died  down  with  the  swift  transition  of 
a  child. 

"  What  do  you  wear  under  your  dress?  "  she 
inquired  suddenly.  With  difficulty  Eve  suc- 
ceeded in  retrieving  her  skirt  from  Mrs.  Ali 
Khan's  exploring  fingers  and  murmured  some- 
thing about  petticoats. 

"  I  wear  English-fashion  chemise,"  said  the 
hostess  proudly.  "  Formerly  I  wore  velvet 
trousers  next  my  skin.  Old  ones,  of  course,  too 
dirty  to  be  seen,"  she  added,  in  extenuation  of 
the  extravagance  of  velvet  undergarments. 

"  The  Mission  Miss  Sahibs  taught  you  the 
wrong  of  doing  that,"  said  Clare,  with  a  faint 
smile.  •"  Even  if  there  was  no  marriage  for 
them,  they  know  much  about  cleanliness  and 
health." 

"  Strength   or   weakness,    both   are    from   the 


266        THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN 

mercy  of  Allah,"  said  Mrs.  All  Khan  piously. 
"  The  Miss  Sahibs  talk  of  air  and  light  and 
going  forth  out  of  doors,  but  I  am  parda  ;  I 
have  never  been  outside  this  house  since  my 
tenth  year,  save  once  or  twice  in  a  closed  litter 
to  my  father's  house."  A  child's  wailing  cry 
summoned  her  from  the  balcony. 

•"  She  has  never  seen  a  tree,"  said  Clare  in 
English,  "  or  a  river,  or  a  field  of  corn.  But 
she  thanks  Allah  because  her  husband  is  rich 
enough  and  important  enough  to  maintain  the 
parda  for  her.  You  know  that  when  a  man 
gets  on  in  the  world  and  saves  money,  his  wife 
will  often  retire  into  parda.  It's  a  sign  of 
prosperity  and  a  cachet  of  respectability— like 
setting  up  a  carriage  in  a  suburban  neighbour- 
hood." 

"  Poor   thing  !  "   mused   Eve. 

•"  You  needn't  pity  her.  She's  happy,  and 
she  pities  us.  And  after  all— suppose  that  in 
time  we  tear  away  the  parda  and  let  them  all 
free,  what  are  we  going  to  do  with  them?  It 
will  be  worse  than  any  problem  of  freed  slaves, 
worse  than  any  Sadducee  question  of  '  whose 
wife  shall  she  be?  '  We're  incurring  an  awful 
responsibility  when  we  storm  their  closed 
zananas  and  rant  of  freedom,  with  our  British 
disregard  of  consequences." 

-"  Then  why  do  you  come?  Why  do  you  ask 
me  to  come?  "  Duty  had  suddenly  assumed  an 
even  more  complicated  form  to  Eve's  puzzled 
mind. 


THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN        267 

"  Because  we  must.  Because  of  the  physical 
need,  the  everyday  need,  the  saving  of  the 
victims  offered  daily  to  the  Moloch  they  call 
motherhood  in  a  zanana.  This  woman  hasn't 
paid  dearly  for  her  five  sons,  but  some  of  them 
—Mrs.  Lang,  you've  had  a  child,  and  you  kno\^ 
something  of  what  it  means.  I  haven't,  I  never 
shall  ;  but  I've  seen  more  of  the  horrors  of 
maternity  than  you  have.  We've  just  got  to  let 
the  problem  of  the  future  go  unsolved,  and  per- 
haps God  will  have  grown  kinder  to  women 
when  the  day  comes  to  unravel  it.  In  the  mean- 
time we  must  save  them  from  themselves,  from 
filth  and  disease  and  cruelty.  India  is  ours  ;  we 
owe  her  something,  but  I  think  our  debt  is 
physical  sooner  than  moral.  But  there,  I'm 
ranting  again — forgive  me." 

She  rose  from  her  chair  and  leaned  over  the 
balustrade,  gazing  into  the  courtyard  below, 
where  a  group  of  women  squatted,  scrubbing 
away  at  cooking  vessels  with  handfuls  of  black 
mud.  Their  raucous  voices  hung  on  the  heavy 
air,  the  only  sound  save  for  the  curiously  similar 
call  of  the  crows  that  hopped  in  fearless  search 
of  discarded  morsels.  She  knew  vaguely  the 
direction  of  the  city  street,  but  no  sound  from 
without  invaded  the  stillness  to  show  that  a 
world  of  men  lived  crowded  hours  outside  the 
bars  of  this  grey  cage  of  women. 

"  Isn't  it  deadly?  "  said  Eve,  with  a  shiver  as 
she  joined  her. 


268        THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN 

"  My  great -grandmother  was  born  in  just  such 
a  place,"  said  Clare,  half  to  herself.  "  I  wonder 
how  she  felt  when  she  first  went  into  the  world. 
I  don't  think  there  were  any  Mission  Miss  Sahibs 
in  her  day  to  give  her  some  idea  of  English 
manners  and  customs.  She  was  a  Hindu,  and 
met  my  great-grandfather  at  the  bathing  festival 
at  Allahabad.  She  was  being  rowed  out  to  the 
sacred  meeting -place  of  the  rivers  and  the  boat 
upset,  and  he  jumped  in  and  saved  her." 

The  tinkling  of  ornaments  and  swish  of 
draperies  heralded  Mrs.  Ali  Khan's  return.  In 
her  arms  she  bore  a  crying  child  wrapped  in  a 
tattered  quilt  of  padded  cotton. 

"  The  child  has  fever,  and  cries  night-long, 
day-long,"  she  said,  squatting  on  the  string  bed- 
stead that  is  a  feature  of  every  Indian  room. 

Eve  came  to  her  side  and  moved  the  hot  red 
quilt  gently  from  the  child's  face.  One  cool 
hand  imprisoned  the  restless,  straying  fingers 
and  let  them  go  again  with  a  start. 

"  \Vhy,  your  child  has  degrees  of  temperature," 
she  cried.  "  I  have  never  felt  anything  so  hot 
and  dry.  Have  you  seen  a  doctor?" 

"  It  is  but  fever,"  returned  the  mother.  "  I 
have  given  English  medicine.  The  Doctor  Miss 
gives  me  quinine  always,  and  if  I  send  news 
to  her  she  will  come  in  one  moment.  But  I 
fear  always  to  send  lest  she  take  the  child  into 
her  hospital  as  she  took  the  daughter  of  Akbari 
and  there  killed  her." 


THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN        269 

41  Some  unfortunate  infant  who  tried  to  have 
a  baby  at  the  age  of  ten,  I  suppose/'  said  Eve 
a  trifle  viciously,  as  she  lifted  the  wailing  child 
on  to  her  knee. 

"  I  wouldn't  nurse  it  if  I  were  you,"  said 
Clare,  in  anxious  tones.  "  You  never  know  what 
it  may  be  sickening  for,  with  such  high  fever. 
It  might  be  smallpox  even." 

"  Denis  predicted  smallpox.  I  think  you  are 
right,  and  we'd  better  go."  Eve  handed  back 
the  wailing  bundle.  Its  open  eyes  stared  in  a 
fever  of  delirium,  and  words  babbled  without 
sense  came  from  its  parched  lips.  The  mother 
was  really  frightened  now,  and  she  hardly  re- 
membered the  flowery  sentences  meet  to  speed 
a  parting  guest. 

In  her  desire  to  gain  the  outside  air  Eve  forgot 
the  filth  of  the  steps,  and  sped  along  the  dark 
passages  as  though  she  were  pursued.  Outside, 
the  same  duck  routed  in  the  same  gutter,  at 
the  end  of  the  sunless  alley  silhouettes  passed 
and  repassed  against  the  golden  light  of  the 
sunlit  street.  Soon  they  were  in  the  dog-cart 
again  and  hastening  towards  civilisation. 

"  I  oughtn't  to  have  taken  you  there,"  said 
Clare,  in  tones  of  anxious  regret.  "But  it  is 
such  a  typical  middle -class  Mohammedan  house. 
I  only  wish  you  could  have  seen  the  other  wives, 
and  that  the  baby  hadn't  been  ill.  She  is  a 
clever  little  woman,  and  she  thinks,  which  is  a 
great  point,  even  if  she  thinks  wrong.  So  many 


270        THE   UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN 

of  them  don't  think  at  all  except  about  cooking 
and  babies." 

"It  is  so  dreadful  that  she  has  never  seen  a 
tree,"  murmured  Eve,  looking  up  at  the  green- 
grey  feathers  of  the  mm -tree  avenue  under  which 
they  drove.  Then  she  dismissed  the  thought 
of  Mrs.  Ali  Khan,  and  looked  forward  to  the 
afternoon  and  evening  she  and  Denis  were  to 
spend  together.  The  joy  of  reconcilement  was 
warm  at  her  heart,  and  the  future  stretched 
before  her  far  and  golden. 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

AND  so  their  New  Life  was  inaugurated.  It 
needed  all  Eve's  tact  during  those  first  difficult 
evenings  when  Denis,  followed  her  into  the 
drawing-room,  and  they  sat  a  little  silent  together 
or  strained  after  elusive  topics.  In  secret  they 
were  inclined  to  look  forward  to  Celia's  return  ; 
but  their  talent  for  domesticity  was  not  tried  too 
severely,  for  the  cold  weather  gaieties  left  but 
few  nights  free  from  engagements.  To  regain 
a  lost  sympathy  is  a  task  less  easy  than  its  first 
capture,  but  Eve  bent  her  mind  to  achievement 
and  resolutely  trod  the  difficult  way  back.  The 
grim  pages  of  the  famine  report  lit  a  sudden 
fire  of  admiration  for  her  silent  husband— ad- 
miration of  a  different  quality  from  that  which 
she  had  bestowed  on  him  in  their  engagement 
days.  She  began  to  feel  that  if  he  had  neglected 
her  it  was  not  for  his  own  pleasure  but  rather 
for  his  pain.  For  the  first  time  she  took  the 
trouble  to  learn  something  of  what  the  man's 
work  meant. 

"  .Why  are  you  so  inarticulate?  "  she  asked 
him,  looking  up  from  the  book  which  told  her  so 

much.     "  Why  didn't  you  tell  me  something  of 
an 


272        THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN 

your  work?  Surely  I'm  not  too  stupid  to  under- 
stand this  1  " 

He  realised  the  measure  of  his  share  in  their 
married  failure.  He  had  been  inarticulate,  and 
a  woman  needs  speech  in  the  evening  to  refresh 
her  after  the  day-long  silence  of  her  Indian 
house .  Also  he  had  underrated  her  intelligence— 
a  fatal  method  of  treating  a  wife.  Overrate  her 
powers  of  understanding  and  she  is  flattered 
and  charmed,  working  secretly  to  live  up  to  the 
level  the  man  assigns  to  her.  Underrate  her 
intelligence,  and  with  a  curious  and  old-fashioned 
humility  she  accepts  her  imposed  role  of  empty  - 
head.  Moral  freedom,  actual  freedom  have  come 
with  the  years,  yet  many  women  can  yet  accept 
without  a  murmur  the  intellectual  death  sentence 
passed  upon  them  by  their  masculine  judge. 

"Do  you  think  you  could  correct  proofs?" 
asked  Denis,  with  almost  a  timid  air.  "  It  would 
help  me  tremendously." 

"  I  am  quite  sure  I  could  learn,"  returned 
Eve  hopefully. 

So  the  way  back  was  brightened  with  ^galley 
proofs  that  held  the  longest,  hardest  words  Eve 
had  ever  seen.  Denis's  writing  was  illegible 
always,  and  Indian  compositors  frequently  do 
not  know  the  language  of  the  manuscripts  they 
put  into  type.  She  spent  the  mornings  toiling 
over  a  series  of  cryptograms  and  turning 
a  dictionary's  leaves  in  feverish  desire  to  find 
what  Denis  could  have  meant.  Nevertheless  she 


THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN        273 

enjoyed  the  feeling  that  she  was  really  of  some 
use  at  last,  and  made  timid  observations  ovejr 
the  dinner-table  about  her  interest  in  Gonds. 

In  this  way  ten  days  went  by.  On  the  tenth 
the  printed  lines  swam  before  her  hot  eyes,  and 
a  pulse  beat  in  her  head.  With  a  smile  she 
remembered  Denis's  advice  about  taking  her 
temperature,  and  she  fetched  his  clinical  thermo- 
meter. The  little  arrow  told  a  tale  which  sent 
her  to  bed  at  once,  but  for  Denis  returning  at 
teatime  she  had  only  reassuring  words. 

"  I've  got  a  little  fever,"  she  said.  "  I  ought 
to  have  sent  for  my  coat  earlier  last  night,  it 
got  cold  so  suddenly  and  I  didn't  notice.  If 
I'm  not  better  in  the  morning  you  shall  send  for 
Dr.  Vyse,  but  I'm  sure  a  day  in  bed  will  set 
me  right." 

Denis  dined  alone,  and  found  that  ten  short 
days  had  spoiled  his  taste  for  solitude.  He  went 
straight  into  his  study  when  the  meal  was  over 
and  sat  down  to  his  work,  but  thoughts  of  his 
wife  came  between  him  and  a  difficult  ethno- 
logical question  he  had  meant  to  solve  this  quiet 
evening. 

A  gentle  tap  on  the  unshuttered  glass  of  the 
door  that  led  on  to  the  veranda  roused  him 
abruptly  from  his  reverie.  He  looked  up  with 
a  surprised  start  as  the  unbolted  door  opened 
cautiously,  and  Clare  Cardwell  stood  on  the 
threshold.  The  light  from  the  study  streamed 
across  the  dark  veranda,  illuminating  a  strange 
18 


274        THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN 

enough  figure,  for  the  white  silk  evening  gown 
she  wore  was  kilted  high  above  her  petticoat 
and  fastened  in  front  with  a  large  safety  pin. 

He  stared  at  her  a  moment,  and  then 
remembered  to  be  courteous. 

"Won't  you  come  in?"  he  said.  "Surely 
you  aren't  alone?  " 

"Yes,  I'm  alone.  I  bicycled.  Father  and 
mother  were  dining  out  and  had  the  horses,  and 
I  couldn't  wait  for  a  ticca.  Where  is  Mrs. 
Lang?  Is  she  all  right?  " 

Denis  began  to  think  good  works  had  turned 
his  visitor's  brain. 

"  I'm  afraid  you  can't  see  my  wife  to-night, 
she  has  had  fever  all  day  and  has  gone  to  bed. 
Can  I  do  anything  for  you?  " 

"  Fever?  "  Clare's  tone  was  full  of  horror. 
"  Has  she  seen  a  doctor?  " 

"  No,  not  yet.  She  never  does  for  these 
malarial  attacks  unless  they  persist.  But  what 
is  troubling  you?  Are  you  ill?  " 

"  No,  I  am  not  ill  " — she  spoke  with  an  effort 
— "  but  I  have  just  had  a  note  from  Dr.  Edith 
Dallas,  the  Dufferin  Hospital  woman,  you 
know." 

Denis  nodded,  impatient  at  her  slow  utterance. 

"  She  says  that  AH  Khan's  family  has  been 
entirely  wiped  out  by  plague— himself,  his  wife, 
and  their  five  sons.  I  was  going  there  to-morrow, 
and  she  sent  to  warn  me." 

"  But   what   has    Ali's   Khan's    family   to   do 


THE    UNKNOWN  STEEKSMAN        275 

with  my  wife?  "  asked  Denis,  though  he  was 
grimly  sure  of  her  answer. 

"  I  took  her  there,  ten  days  ago,  and  she 
nursed  the  youngest  child.  It  died  of  plague 
next  day,  and  now  the  whole  family  have  gone, 
one  after  another.  And  I  was  suddenly  afraid, 
for  I  knew  Mrs.  Lang  isn't  strong,  and  I  felt 
I  must  come  round  at  once  ;  she  wasn't  at  the 
Club  this  afternoon,  and  I  thought  I'd  just  like 
to  see  if  she  were  a'll  right.  You  say  she  has 
got  fever?  "  Her  voice  trailed  into  silence. 

Denis  glared  down  into  the  white  face  framed 
in  the  tumbled  masses  of  dark  hair.  Could  it 
be  that  this  wretched  girl  with  her  folly  of  good 
works  was  to  snatch  away  his  new-won  happi- 
ness? In  his  hardly  bridled  rage  lie  could  have 
struck  her  ;  but  it  was  no  time  for  madness,  and 
he  forced  himself  to  saner  mood. 

"  In  any  case  she  must  not  be  frightened," 
he  said  coldly.  "  She  must  not  know  that  you 
are  here  or  why  you  are  come.  There  is  no 
reason  to  suppose  that  she  has  caught  plague, 
we  must  often  come  into  contact  with  it  without 
knowing  it  ;  but  I  will  send  round  for  Dr. 
Vyse  at  once." 

A  swishing  of  draperies  along  the  matted 
corridor  caught  their  ears.  Footsteps  passed  the 
study  door  and  went  towards  the  drawing- 
room. 

"  It  is  my  wife,"  said  Denis  hurriedly.  "  She 
must  be  feeling  better.  Don't  let  her  see  you. 


276        THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN 

Go  out  on  the  veranda  and  I  will  send  a  trap 
round  to  take  you  home." 

"  I  can  go  back  on  my  bicycle/'  she  began  ; 
but  again  they  heard  the  steps  approaching,  and 
Denis  pointed  to  the  veranda  door.  She  had 
barely  time  to  reach  it  when  a  curtain  was  pulled 
aside  and  Eve  stood  swaying  on  the  threshold. 
Her  eyes  were  glazed  and  bright,  and  from  her 
cracked  lips  came  strange  babblings. 

Denis  sprang  towards  her,  but  before  he  could 
reach  her  she  had  lost  her  hold  of  the  curtain, 
and,  lurching  forward,  slid  into  a  crumpled  heap 
at  his  feet. 

Clare  ran  from  the  veranda  doorway  and  the 
two  faced  each  other  across  Eve's  prone  body. 

"  You  know  the  symptoms?  "  he  asked  harshly. 
"  She  has  fever  ;  look  for  the  other  signs.  I'm 
clumsy,  I  might  hurt  her." 

Swiftly  the  girl's  fingers  were  busy  at  the 
laces  of  Eve's  dressing-gown.  In  a  moment 
that  lasted  years  she  had  thrust  her  hand  inside 
the  nightdress  and  under  the  arm.  Then  she 
lifted  a  ghastly  face  to  his,  and  he  read  his 
answer  in  her  eyes. 

"I'll  go  for  Dr.  Vyse,"  she  said,  springing 
to  her  feet.  "  I  may  be  mistaken.  It  may  be 
something  else." 

"  Dr.  Vyse  has  never  treated  plague,"  said 
Denis  hoarsely,  "  but  he  is  better  than  nothing." 

A  sudden  thought  illuminated  Clare's  tragic 
face. 


THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN        277 

"  The  Rat-Catcher,"  she  cried.  "  He  is  in 
the  station,  staying  with  the  Cunninghams.  He 
knows  all  about  plague."  Before  Denis  could 
speak  or  move  she  was  over  the  veranda-rail 
and  speeding  through  the  black  night  on  a  silent 
wheel. 

He  knelt  on  beside  the  stricken  woman,  who 
babbled  of  Gonds  and  dolichocephalic  tribes,  the 
weary  lumber  which  had  so  long  barred  her 
from  the  inner  shrine  of  his  life. 


CHAPTER    XXX 

ALMOST  before  Denis's  strained  expectation 
believed  it  possible,  the  Rat -Catcher  was  on  the 
veranda  bearing  hope  and  courage  with  him. 

"  I  came  on  Miss  Cardwell's  bike,"  he 
explained  as  he  strode  in  at  Denis's  side.  "  She 
is  coming  on  in  my  trap  as  soon  as  it's  ready, 
Mrs.  Cunningham  is  coming  too.  Wire  for 
nurses,  the  two  ladies  can  help  until  they  come." 
He  was  silent  as  he  drew  aside  the  curtain  and 
passed  into  the  lamp -lit  room  where  Eve  lay 
babbling  and  shrieking.  His  hands,  wise  from 
experience,  touched  her  gently,  confirming 
Clare's  diagnosis. 

"  It's  plague,"  he  nodded  ;  "  but  we  shall  pull 
her  through  all  right.  She  has  got  any  amount 
of  vitality,  and  if  she  wants  to  live  she  will." 
His  words,  so  full  of  conviction,  comforted  the 
husband's  appalled  heart  and  helped  him  to  bear 
the  hateful  inaction  of  the  next  few  weeks. 

iWith  a  kind  of  savage  glee  the  Rat -Catcher 
wrestled  with  his  chosen  enemy  ;  he  must  snatch 
this  prey  at  least  from  the  jaws  that  devoured 
thousands.  For  him  there  was  the  joy  of  labour, 
but  for  Denis,  standing  behind  the  curtain  that 


THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN        279 

veiled  his  wife's  open  door,  there  was  nothing 
to  do  but  to  listen  to  her  incessant  babble  of 
Gonds.  Sometimes  she  raved  of  Celia  and  some 
strange  confession,  but  she  always  came  back 
to  the  Gonds  with  a  persistence  that  stabbed 
afresh  at  his  repentant  spirit. 

The  Rat-Catcher  never  lost  heart — his  type 
of  Englishman  never  does  lose  heart — and 
presently  the  implacable  enemy  began  to  relax 
the  grip  that  so  few  escape.  Plague  and  cholera 
are  soon  over,  the  issue  is  not  long  in  doubt. 
Eve's  fever  burnt  out  and  she  lay  strengthless, 
uncertain  if  she  should  take  hold  on  life  again. 
Her  desire  to  live,  her  vague  remembrance  that 
she  had  left  something  undone  in  the  world, 
her  husband's  insistent  love — all  these  things 
beckoned  her  away  from  the  waters  of  Lethe. 
It  would  have  been  so  much  easier  to  lie  still 
and  fade  painlessly  into  death  that  waited  at 
her  bedside  night  and  day.  To  her  ineffable 
weakness  death  showed  as  a  friend.  But  she 
owed  much  to  life  and  she  was  fain  to  pay 
her  debt,  so  little  by  little  she  trod  her  difficult 
path  back,  with  her  pleading  eyes  hanging  on 
the  man  who  fought  so  hard  for  her  saving. 
When  Celia  was  allowed  to  come  home  again 
the  child's  very  presence  roused  her.  Here  also 
was  a  debt  for  life  to  pay. 

Day  by  day  the  Rat -Catcher  wrestled,  and 
presently  he  knew  that  she  was  helping  him 
and  that  he  was  to  be  victor.  Slowly  the  tide 


280        THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN 

flowed  back,  and  Denis  gazed  at  a  white  wraith 
that  lay  speechless  but  smiled  faintly  with  blood- 
less lips.  England  was  now  the  only  fit  nurse, 
and  before  the  brain-fever  bird  heralded  the 
torments  of  the  hot  weather  Eve  was  carried 
on  board  a  homeward-bound  steamer  at  Bombay 
with  Denis  and  Celia  by  her  side. 

The  Rat -Catcher  accompanied  his  patient  with 
a  pride  of  victory  in  his  glowing  eye. 

"  You  may  walk  a  bit  in  two  days,"  he  pre- 
scribed, "  and  within  a  week  you'll  be  prancing 
round  the  deck.  I  never  saw  a  more  beautiful 
recovery,  but  you  were  a  beautiful  case  all 
through."  He  pressed  her  fleshless  hand,  then 
went  away  to  fight  his  hot-weather  campaign, 
promising  himself  ten  days'  leave  to  see  Clare 
Cardwell,  whose  vows  of  celibacy  he  considered 
absurd. 

As  he  had  foretold,  health  came  speeding  back 
into  Eve's  body.  Every  hour  of  the  sunny  ocean 
day  gave  her  a  firmer  grip  on  life.  Daily  her 
walks  grew  longer,  and  she  enjoyed  many  quiet 
chats  with  Celia.  The  wedding,  of  course,  was 
postponed.  John  was  to  take  leave  and  they 
would  be  married  in  England  later,  when  Eve 
was  strong  again.  Meantime  she  needed  the 
quiet  care  which  only  love  can  give,  and  Celia 
spent  herself  day  and  night  in  service.  For  the 
moment  there  was  a  real  place  in  the  world 
for  her,  and  she  fitted  into  it  with  enthusiasm. 
When  John  had  proposed  a  quiet  wedding  before 


THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN        281 

Eve  sailed,  the  girl  fought  and  conquered  her 
own  inclinations. 

"  Eve  needs  me,"  she  said  gravely,  and  he 
was  forced  to  accept  her  decision  that  the  idea 
should  not  even  be  mentioned. 

And  Eve  was  glad  to  need  her,  glad  to  accept 
the  service  which  might  help  in  the  task  of 
building  up  Celia's  character.  Lying  back  in 
her  deck  chair  she  had  time  to  look  carefully 
at  the  past  and  speed  the  hours  by  making 
plans  for  the  future. 

All  too  soon  the  blue  and  gold  Mediterranean 
outlook  gave  place  to  the  grey  lift  of  the  Bay, 
and  presently  the  liner  picked  her  way  along 
the  greenish  Channel  paths  that  were  populous 
with  black  tramps  and  slow  coasting  vessels. 
Then  came  the  river,  and  the  voyage  was  ended. 


CHAPTER    XXXI 

CELIA  absorbed  England  with  calm,  unhurried 
zest.  Her  previous  knowledge  of  London  was 
limited  to  the  day  she  had  driven  across  it  from, 
one  station  to  another  to  catch  the  boat -train  on 
her  way  to  India.  She  did  not  even  know  it  from 
books,  and  missed,  therefore,  the  sacred  emotions 
that  stir  certain  imaginative  folk  gazing  at 
prosaic  lettering  of  names  at  a  street  corner. 
London  possessed  no  sentimental  values  for  her, 
she  had  nothing  to  do  with  its  past,  her  own  past 
was  in  no  way  connected  with  its  streets  and  its 
churches  and  its  river.  But  she  intended  it  to  be 
connected  with  her  future,  and  in  her  calm, 
dogged  fashion  she  set  herself  to  learn  what  she 
considered  necessary. 

A  flat  hi  Hampstead  housed  them  after  Eve's 
convalescence  had  been  sped  by  a  month  in  a 
Kentish  farm. 

Celia's  postponed  marriage  was  not  hastened  ; 
there  was  really  no  hurry  now  that  exigencies  of 
climate  set  no  hard  and  fast  dates.  Eve,  in 
her  new  spirit  of  self-sacrifice,  pretended  that 
she  needed  Celia's  presence.  As  a  matter  of 
fact,  she  longed  for  the  day  when  she  and 


THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN        283 

Denis  could  be  alone  once  more,  but  she  counted 
every  week  a  gain  in  Celia's  development.  She 
was  as  yet  afraid  to  trust  the  crude  child  to  the 
solitary  mercies  of  a  husband  who  might  be 
found  without  patience  or  understanding  to  guide 
his  charge. 

Eve's  striving  was  a  little  pathetic  perhaps. 
She  read  French  and  German  with  Celia  every 
morning  at  fixed  hours.  They  even  attempted 
Carlyle's  "  French  Revolution,"  but  they  found 
it  a  weary  tangle  of  incomprehensible  words 
from  which  they  broke  with  relief  at  a  smiling 
suggestion  from  Denis. 

Conscientiously  Eve  tried  pictures.  They 
found  the  National  Gallery  a  place  of  torture, 
and  Celia  refused  to  look  at  anything  except 
the  "  Death  of  Procris  "  and  "  Tobias  and  the 
Angel."  She  admired  the  dogs  in  those  pictures, 
and  insisted  on  sitting  down  to  talk  about  James 
instead  of  going  further.  The  Tate  Gallery, 
on  the  other  hand,  was  a  great  success.  Most 
girls  possess  an  engraving  of  Watts's  "  Hope," 
and  custom  dulls  its  meaning  to  them.  No 
pictures  hung  in  Fendyke  Vicarage  except 
stained  and  spotted  prints  of  Dore"  horrors,  with 
one  stiff  representation  of  the  meeting  of 
Volumnia  and  her  son.  Nobody  has  pictures  in 
India.  A  few  women,  greatly  daring,  bring 
out  photographs  of  their  favourite  Masters,  but 
fish  insects  and  constant  transfers  smother  one's 
early  longing  for  art  in  the  home. 


284        THE   UNKNOWN   STEERSMAN 

Celia,  then,  had  never  seen  a  real  picture  at 
all.  The  Langs'  bungalow  had  been  bright  with 
Liberty  chintzes  and  flowers,  but  the  walls  were 
bare  except  for  the  'Varsity  groups  in  Denis's 
study. 

She  came,  therefore,  more  ignorant  of  art 
than  any  Board-school  child,  face  to  face  with 
Watts's  "Hope."  The  blue  of  the  background 
attracted  her  first,  for  she  was  susceptible  to 
colour  although  she  did  not  know  it.  Quite 
quietly  she  stood  there  trying  to  understand  the 
connection  between  the  title  and  the  subject. 
When  Eve  came  up,  she  surprised  the  first  tears 
of  Celia's  opening  heart.  After  that  they  made 
many  visits  to  the  gallery,  and  presently  Celia 
asked  to  go  back  to  the  old  Masters  for  a  day. 
This  time,  although  she  admired  the  dogs,  she 
also  succeeded  in  discovering  Fra  Angelico. 

There  was  music,  also,  of  course.  Depriva- 
tion of  art  is  one  of  the  clauses  in  the  sentence 
of  exile  in  India,  deprivation  of  music  is  a 
second.  The  drawing-room  piano  goes  without 
saying  in  England.  In  India  it  is  a  heart- 
breaking difficulty,  for  its  constitution  cannot 
stand  against  the  fierce  heat  of  June  or  the 
hopeless  damp  of  the  monsoon  months.  Many 
people  solve  the  difficulty  by  doing  without  it. 
Others  sing  bravely  to  an  instrument  with  half 
its  notes  ruined. 

Between  the  Fendyke  harmonium  and  Eve's 
tired  cottage  piano  Celia  had  heard  no  music 


THE   UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN        285 

at  all.  No  art  and  no  music— the  two  gifts  which 
most  English  girls  accept  without  comment. 
She  took  lessons  now  with  an  interest  absent 
from  her  morning  pursuit  of  literary  culture 
with  Eve.  With  frequent  bravery  they  sat 
through  chamber  concerts.  Denis  smiled,  but 
he  limited  his  interference  to  Carlyle.  He 
could  not  clearly  understand  the  reason  for 
Eve's  educational  fervour,  but  he  was  wise 
enough  not  to  question. 

Staniforth,  of  course,  was  often  in  evidence. 
Between  visits  to  his  people  in  the  country,  he 
spent  weeks  in  London  in  Celia's  society, 
grumbling  a  little  in  secret  at  Eve's  selfishness 
in  postponing  their  wedding. 

No  couple  could  have  been  better  matched. 
Her  ignorance  did  not  jar  ;  it  was  even  a  help 
to  their  life,  because  he  enjoyed  the  opportunities 
her  receptive  genius  afforded.  He  was  a  man 
who  delighted  in  shaping  the  world  to  his  own 
fancy.  Celia  was  a  subject  obviously  made  to 
his  hand,  he  foresaw  happy  years  spent  in  her 
moulding. 

He  found  her  a  little  unresponsive  towards 
his  love-making,  but  this  too  was  an  absurd 
pleasure  to  his  mind  that  once  had  been 
astonished  by  queer  rumours  concerning  a  girl's 
topics  of  conversation.  He  was  quite  sure,  after 
a  month  of  their  engagement,  that  these  rumours 
were  due  to  some  inexplicable  feminine  malice, 
and  were  unworthy  of  a  moment's  thought. 


286        THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN 

Staniforth  had  always  disliked  girls.  Celia 
was  the  first  he  had  ever  really  noticed,  and 
the  novelty  of  her  continued  to  charm.  Denis 
had  met  ignorance  in  women  with  a  disappoint- 
ment that  merged  only  too  soon  into  indifference. 
John  welcomed  it  as  a  career  for  himself.  Both 
began  in  egoism.  The  end  was  not  yet.  John 
already  felt  the  hard  central  fact  of  his  own 
importance  melting  into  something  more 
mystical,  realised  that  Celia  was  teaching  him 
to  look  out  over  his  fences.  He  had  deliber- 
ately chosen  to  barricade  himself  against  the 
world  outside  his  profession  and  his  games. 
Intending  now  to  draw  Celia  inside  it,  he  found 
that  unconsciously  he  had  followed  her  while  he 
thought  to  play  the  leader. 

On  his  London  Sundays  he  discovered,  with 
secret  amusement  and  outward  meekness,  that 
he  was  expected  to  attend  her  to  church. 
Presently  he  found  himself  sure  that  religion 
was  a  becoming  feminine  adjunct,  and  that 
Celia  never  looked  so  sweet  as  when  she  stood 
with  upturned  face,  singing  of  heavenly 
mansions.  India  had  merely  interrupted  a 
custom  to  which  Celia  reverted  with  apprecia- 
tion. She  meant  to  be  "  good  "  ever  after,  and 
goodness  meant  the  type  the  rector  had  shown 
her.  So  Celia  went  to  church  and  even  found 
a  weekly  sewing  meeting  where  she  could 
improve  her  talent  for  flannel  petticoats. 

Fortunately  for  John's  appreciation,  the  girl's 


THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN        287 

method  was  that  of  water-tight  compartments, 
and  her  interests  never  slopped  over.  She  had 
no  uncomfortable  desires  for  week-day  services 
or  Lenten  abstinences,  and  Monday  always  found 
her  recovered  from  that  Sunday  mood  of  saintli- 
ness,  which  might  have  proved  wearying  if  it 
had  been  protracted. 

The  thing  which  she  happened  to  be  doing 
at  the  moment  was  the  only  thing  which 
mattered  to  Celia.  Resolutely  she  had  shut  the 
door  on  the  past  and  left  the  future  to  grow 
of  itself  out  of  her  active  present.  There  are 
some  lucky  women  who  possess  a  thick  clear 
skin,  its  insensitive  pallor  unaltered  by  climatic 
or  mental  accesses  of  heat  or  cold.  Celia's 
skin  flushed  and  paled  variably,  but  her  inward 
consciousness  had  been  insensitive.  Her  starved 
soul  had  rendered  her  callous,  but  the  hard  outer 
crust  began  to  crack  and  shrivel  in  the  warmth 
and  sympathy  of  her  new  life. 

There  was  as  yet  little  outward  sign  of  the 
inward  change.  She  had  always  been  fond  of 
Dicky,  and  always  displayed  a  genius  for 
playing  with  children.  Her  early  training  had 
caused  her  to  regard  it  as  natural  that  she  should 
be  thoughtful  and  helpful  where  other  people 
were  concerned.  These  outward  tokens  came 
naturally  and  without  forethought. 

Eve,  looking  for  visible  signs  of  grace,  was 
disappointed  every  day.  Celia  was  a  comfort- 
able housemate,  she  took  everything  calmly  and 


288        THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN 

was  never  flustered  or  depressed  or  uninterested, 
but  she  refused  to  show  any  evidences  of  re- 
morseful conscience.  So  Eve  plodded  on  with 
her  lectures  and  concerts  and  the  deadly  arti- 
ficialities of  the  French  classics  that  somehow 
or  other  were  to  bring  Celia  to  the  knowledge 
of  the  truth. 

Staniforth  considered  the  theatre  educational, 
and  was  rather  fond  of  taking  Celia  to  mild 
problem  plays  which  could  not,  he  thought, 
shock  even  her  innocence,  and  yet  might  inure 
her  almost  unconsciously  to  certain  facts  of 
life.  Celia  always  sat  listening  with  absorbed 
interest,  but  she  never  asked  any  questions  after- 
wards, and  confined  her  criticisms  to  externals 
of  clothes  and  features  and  voices,  disregarding 
the  plots  and  problems  she  was  meant  to  notice. 

He  decided  to  go  a  step  further,  and  took 
stalls  for  "  The  Question,"  a  rather  old- 
fashioned  problem  play,  which  a  delighted  audi- 
ence found  improper  and  enjoyed  to  the  full. 
A  sudden  headache  rendered  Eve  helpless. 
Denis  stayed  behind  to  nurse  his  wife,  and  the 
two  were  allowed  to  go  alone. 

When  they  entered  the  theatre,  in  very  good 
time,  for  Celia  always  refused  to  miss  even  the 
worst  curtain-raiser,  the  seats  on  their  right  were 
vacant.  Presently,  during  the  interval,  when  Celia 
turned  her  head  from  a  whispered  conversation 
with  her  lover,  the  programme  fluttered  from  her 
satin  lap  and  she  stooped  to  recover  it.  Her 


THE   UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN        289 

eyes  down -bent  stared  suddenly  at  a  hand 
stretched  plain  to  view  on  the  green  velvet  up- 
holstery of  the  next  stall.  The  hand,  thin, 
brown,  and  sinewy,  stabbed  at  her  sluggish  con- 
sciousness, for  she  knew  it  ;  it  belonged  to  a 
past  which,  once  deliberately  forgotten,  had  been 
stirring  uncomfortably  during  the  last  months. 
That  hand  had  lured  her  far  on  a  strange  path, 
and  she  gazed  frozenly  at  it,  until  a  well-known 
voice  broke  into  conventional  politeness. 

"  Allow  me,"  it  said,  and  the  programme  was 
retrieved  and  put  into  her  hand.  She  raised 
her  eyes  to  meet  Riplingham's.  He  flinched 
at  the  tragic  question  in  the  blue  depths,  grown 
unaccountably  deeper  since  those  idle  days  on 
the  hill-top.  But  he  found  a  gay  voice  to 
welcome  the  unexpected  meeting  and  to  praise 
the  luck  which  had  brought  them  together.  He 
even  accused  Staniforth  of  slackness  in  /lot 
writing  to  announce  his  presence  in  town.  Celia 
leaned  back  while  the  two  men's  eager  voices 
asked  and  answered  questions.  They  spoke  of 
Eve's  illness  and  the  postponed  marriage,  and 
then  the  curtain  rose  on  the  first  act  of  "  The 
"Question,"  leaving  them  in  welcome  darkness 
to  examine  their  emotions. 

Riplingham's  were  of  relief.  The  announce- 
ment of  their  engagement  had  brought  security 
for  the  moment,  but  he  had  felt  uncertain  about 
later  confidences.  Celia  was  such  an  absurd 
child— it  would  be  just  like  her  to  babble 
19 


290        THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN 

confessions  without  a  thought  of  ruined  lives. 
He  had  waited  eagerly  for  the  announcement  of 
the  wedding.  The  sight  of  the  two  sitting 
amicably  side  by  side  reassured  him  as  to  its 
delay. 

"  She  hasn't  told,"  his  brain  exulted,  while 
his  eyes  watched  the  brilliant  garden  scene  of 
the  first  act. 

Behind  Celia's  calm  brow  the  brain  raged  in 
the  dull  fury  of  which  she  could  be  capable  on 
occasion. 

The  meeting  had  proved  more  poignant  than 
she  could  have  imagined  possible.  She  had 
taught  herself  to  view  that  last  evening  in  the 
hill  station  as  some  ugly  nightmare  to  be  for- 
gotten, but  Riplingham's  actual  presence  made 
ugly  dreams  into  still  uglier  concrete  facts. 
Mentally  and  morally  she  had  progressed  very 
far  in  the  past  year,  but  she  did  not  realise  her 
growth  until  this  moment  of  sick  remorse  that 
leapt  suddenly  into  her  heart  at  the  sight  of  him. 

"  The  girl  is  just  like  you,  Celia,"  said  Stani- 
forth,  as  the  youthful  heroine  of  the  piece 
gathered  roses  and  talked  in  a  winsome  child 
fashion. 

"I'm  not  so  pretty  as  that,"  she  whispered 
back. 

"  Far  prettier,"  he  replied  fondly,  glad  to  see 
her  so  charming  under  Riplingham's  eyes.  "  He 
flirted  with  her  once,"  ran  his  thoughts.  "  I 
dare  say  he  envies  me  now/' 


THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN        291 

Celia  was  far  away,  sitting  on  the  rest-house 
veranda.  She  remembered  the  feel  of  her  soft 
hair  tumbling  on  her  neck,  and  that  hand,  so 
near  hers  now  on  the  arm  of  her  seat,  fondling 
its  sunny  store.  She  remembered  his  quotation 
about  "a  wonder  of  flix  and  floss."  She  had 
read  "  Gold  Hair "  since  then,  for  Eve  had 
put  her  through  a  course  of  Browning's  shorter 
poems,  and  she  had  hated  the  girl  of  Pornic 
because  of  the  memories  she  brought  of  Rip- 
lingham's  voice.  Step  by  step  she  retraced  the 
history  of  that  day,  realising  only  now  for  the 
first  time  how  near  she  had  come,  even  then, 
to  her  final  peril.  He  had  had  pity  on  her 
that  day  ;  he  had  tried  to  gain  freedom  for 
both,  but  she  had  rebelled  and  ignorantly  lured 
him  back. 

She  saw  herself  on  the  veranda  of  Eve's  hill 
bungalow,  on  that  last  evening,  half  afraid  lest 
something  should  stop  her  lover  on  his  way 
back  to  say  goodbye,  wholly  rejoicing  that  he 
still  loved  her  in  spite  of  his  late  coldness. 

She  saw  herself  standing  with  tightly  clasped 
hands,  peering  into  the  darkness,  enjoying  the 
high  beat  of  her  heart,  exulting  in  romance. 
Romance  1 

"  I  thought  it  was  romantic,"  she  thought 
piteously.  "  But  he  knew— he  must  have 
known  ;  men  always  do." 

And  romance  came  stealing  along  the  narrow 
dahlia-encumbered  path  and  materialised  into  a 


292        THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN 

shadow  with  silent,  stealthy  feet.  She  had  held 
out  both  her  hands  to  the  shadow  which  turned 
into  a  man,  while  Romance  fluttered  her  wings 
for  the  last  time. 

The  curtain  fell  on  the  first  act,  the  lights 
went  up,  and  the  two  men  turned  to  her.  She 
had  not  heard  one  word  of  the  play,  but  her  eye 
retained  an  outward  impression  of  the  heroine. 

-'  She  is  sweet,  isn't  she? — but  rather  too  girly, 
too  obtrusively  youthful  and  innocent."  She 
paused,  afraid  she  had  gathered  and  passed  on 
a  stupid  impression,  but  the  men  applauded  her 
criticism. 

"  She  will  develop  all  right,"  said  John.  "  I 
believe  she  behaves  rather  badly  in  the  second 
act,  and  the  '  question  '  of  the  title  is  whether 
she  shall  confess  or  not." 

The  word  of  confession  struck  heavily  at  both. 
Celia  sat  perfectly  still,  but  Riplingham  turned 
with  an  abrupt  movement  to  the  man  on  his 
right-  He  was  disturbed  by  the  coincidence,  his 
knowledge  of  feminine  character  telling  him  that 
Celia's  line  of  action  was  quite  likely  to  be 
changed  by  the  play's  course.  So  far  she  had 
told  nothing — his  cordial  reception  assured  that, 
but  her  conscience  might  easily  be  stabbed 
awake  by  this  unexpected  meeting,  and  by  the 
dramatic  representation  of  a  story  very  like  her 
own. 

"  Do  you  happen  to  know  how  the  play 
ends?  "  he  inquired  from  his  neighbour. 


THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN        293 

"  Oh,  this  innocent  young  woman  goes  wrong 
with  the  fair  youth.  Then  she  falls  in  love 
with  the  strong,  silent  beggar,  Tremenheere,  who 
is  England's  only  hope.  Before  their  marriage 
she  consults  a'  parson  as  to  whether  she  shall 
confess  everything  to  her  future  husband.  The 
parson  makes  her  tell  and  Tremenheere  shoots 
himself.  The  last  curtain  falls  on  a  certainty  of 
war  with  Russia,  in  consequence  of  his  sudden 
withdrawal  from  the  negotiations.  Frightful 
melodramatic  stuff,  of  course,  but  it  carries  you 
away  and  you  believe  in  it  all.  This  is  my 
second  visit." 

In  Celia's  brain  mounted  the  memory  of  her 
confession  to  Eve.  Suddenly  she  was  nearly 
sure  that  the  advice  had  been  wrong.  Surely 
confession  was  a  duty  to  John,  who  sat  there 
so  proud  and  fond  of  a  girl  who  did  not  really 
exist.  The  curtain  rose  again.  This  time  she 
listened.  Critically  she  watched  the  drama's 
unfolding,  heard  the  insistence  on  the  heroine's 
orphan  condition. 

"  I  had  no  mother  either,"  thought  Celia 
soberly.  •"  No  one  ever  told  me  anything. 
Who  could  possibly  guess  what  things— some 
things— really  mean.  I  suppose  some  girls  get 
them  out  of  books,  but  I  never  read  any  real 
ones  till  I  went  to  India,  or  from  other  girls  ; 
but  I  never  knew  any  other  girls  except  Dolly 
Philpot,  and  I  only  met  her  at  dinners  and 
tennis.  Eve  couldn't  very  well  tell  me,  I  sup- 


294        THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN 

pose  ;  she  was  too  young,  and  she  hadn't 
enough  affection  for  me  to  make  her  conquer 
the  dislike  you  have  to  talking  about  nasty 
things,  when  you  understand  how  nasty  they 
really  are." 

The  interview  with  the  clergyman  brought 
back  Eve's  advice  again.  "  Tell  him,"  said 
the  man  in  the  play,  "  and  save  your  soul  alive." 
But  was  one's  own  soul  so  worthy  of  saving? 
In  the  play  Ida  did  not  seem  to  save  herself 
even,  and  she  brought  tragedy  to  her  victim  of 
confession.  Eve  had  said,  in  effect,  "  Don't 
tell,  for  you  will  make  us  all  unhappy  if  you 
do."  She  had  counselled  silence  and  slurred 
over  repentance,  which  must  work  in  secret  or 
not  at  all. 

Riplingham's  anxious  side -glances  told  him 
nothing.  Her  quiet  profile  showed  no  signs  of 
stirred  depths,  and  the  eyes  which  might  have 
told  so  much  were  fixed  on  the  stage.  Beyond, 
John  was  feeling  uncomfortably  doubtful 
whether  the  play  was  not  too  strong  a  food 
for  the  babe  at  his  side.  He  had  not  realised 
how  outspoken  the  dialogue  would  be.  A  grim 
smile  widened  under  Riplingham's  carefully 
tended  moustache.  After  all,  he  was  not  so 
much  to  blame,  he  thought.  The  girl  had  flung 
herself  at  his  head,  had  almost  insisted  on  his 
presence  when  he  had  tried  faithfully  to  leave 
her  alone.  The  innocence  she  claimed  after  the 
final  catastrophe  did  not  exist  at  her  age,  except 


THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN        295 

on  the  stage  or  in  novels  by  feminine  pens. 
Women  loved  to  pose  either  as  very  ignorant 
or  very  knowing.  No  sane  man  believed  in 
their  pretensions  of  ignorance  ;  he  knew  from 
his  own  case  how  impossible  it  could  be  that 
innocence  persisted  through  the  years.  He  had 
done  his  duty  by  asking  her  to  marry  him,  and 
plainly  no  harm  had  come  of  their  little  episode. 
He  pitied  John,  of  course,  but  that  was  John's 
affair.  The  girl  didn't  even  look  ashamed.  She 
might  at  least  have  paid  that  tribute  to  remem- 
brance. He  was  relieved  to  find  his  thoughts 
tending  towards  injury — remorse  was  such  an 
uncomfortable  feeling  to  harbour. 

The  last  act  claimed  full  attention,  while  he 
and  Celia  stared  straight  in  front  of  them  at 
the  tragic  outcome  of  confession.  They  watched 
the  girl,  now  a  haggard  woman,  brood  for  a 
moment  over  the  prone  figure  of  the  dead  man, 
then  turn  and  pass  out  to  destruction. 

More  deeply  moved  now  than  he  could  have 
believed  possible,  Riplingham  hastily  refused 
John's  invitation  to  supper. 

"  This  is  my  last  night  in  town,  you  know," 
he  said.  •'•'  I  leave  for  Marseilles  to-morrow- 
same  old  P.  &  O.  special.  Yes,  my  leave's 
up.  I  took  a  year,  and  it  has  gone  like  a 
flash.  Such  luck  meeting  you  in  this  jolly  way." 

But  in  the  vestibule,  while  John  appealed  to 
the  commissionaire  for  a  taxi-cab,  Riplingham 
took  Celia's  hand. 


296        THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN 

"  I  am  going  to  be  married/'  he  said  signifi- 
cantly. •*'  I  met  my  future  wife  in  the  country 
this  summer,  and  she  is  coming  out  to  me  in 
the  cold  weather.  She  is  a  girl,  as  you  were, 
and  thinks  all  good  things  of  me." 

He  was  stooping  to  ask  her  silence,  to  make 
quite  certain  of  it,  and  suddenly  she  knew  that 
she  would  never  tell.  There  was  another  woman 
in  the  business  now — a  girl,  he  had  said,  who 
believed  in  him,  ignorant  of  ill,  perhaps,  as 
she  herself  had  been.  Well,  she  would  spoil 
no  other  girl's  chance  of  happiness.  She  nodded 
up  at  him  reassuringly. 

"  I  understand  perfectly,"  she  said.  "  But  I 
hope  she  has  a  mother." 

"  A  mother?  " 

His  tone  showed  lack  of  comprehension,  and 
she  smiled  with  sudden  sweetness,  for  a  won- 
derful thought  had  come  to  her.  John  beckoned 
and  she  moved  away  through  the  crowd. 

-'  I  hope  she  will  be  very  happy,"  she  said,  as 
she  stepped  away  from  Riplingham  into  the  cab. 

John  sat  down  at  her  side,  and  waved  fare- 
well as  the  taxi  leapt  forward  and  out  of  the 
line  of  waiting  carriages. 

"Did  I  hear  you  congratulating  old  Ripling- 
ham? "  he  asked. 

She  nodded. 

"  Yes,  he  is  to  be  married  in  the  cold  weather. 
A  girl  down  in  the  country,  he  said." 

11  We  mustn't  let  him   beat   us,"   said  John. 


THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN        297 

"  How  much  longer  are  you  and  Eve  going  to 
keep  me  waiting?  I  am  quite  sure  she  is  well 
enough  to  spare  you  to  me  now."  His  arm 
slipped  round  her  waist.  She  leaned  back  on 
his  shoulder,  counting  it  a  safe  haven. 

"  I  don't  really  think  there  is  much  reason  to 
wait  now,"  she  returned  soberly. 


CHAPTER  XXXII 

NEXT  morning  Celia  was  unusually  quiet  at 
breakfast.  She  said  so  little  about  the  play 
that  Eve  wondered  uneasily  if  she  had  quarelled 
with  John.  Eve's  head  was  still  weary  from 
yesterday's  pain,  and  she  went  but  languidly  to 
the  writing-table,  where  copies  of  "  Athalie " 
and  "  Maria  Stuart  "  were  neatly  stacked  with 
notebooks  by  Celia's  careful  hands.  For  a 
moment,  eyeing  their  dull  covers  with  disgust, 
she  thought  of  proclaiming  a  holiday,  but  a 
memory  of  Celia's  tense  little  face  across  the 
breakfast  table  made  her  decide  to  secure  the 
quietness  which  their  study  hours  afforded. 
Perhaps  Celia  needed  her. 

When  household  duties  were  done,  Dicky 
dispatched  for  his  walk,  and  Denis  off  on  some 
man's  errand,  the  two  sat  down  together.  Celia 
chose  "  Athalie  "  first,  because  she  disliked  it 
most.  She  read  a  long  declamatory  speech  in 
the  dreary  tones  girls  keep  for  French  tragedy, 
then,  without  waiting  to  translate  it,  she  threw 
down  her  pencil  and  pushed  away  her  book. 

"  Captain  Riplingham  sat  next  to  me  in  the 
theatre  last  night,"  she  said  abruptly.  His  name 


THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN        299 

had  never  been  mentioned  between  the  two  since 
the  night  of  confession,  it  seemed  now  to  deprive 
Eve  of  power  to  speak.  This  time  it  was  she 
who  blushed,  and  the  painful  colour  flooded  up 
to  her  dark  hair.  She  bent  over  her  book, 
drawing  foolish  arabesques  on  its  margin. 

"  He  is  going  to  be  married  this  cold  weather. 
His  leave  is  up  to-day,  but  she  goes  out  later, 
of  course." 

Celia's  voice  was  quite  steady.  iWhen  the 
blood  receded  from  her  own  face,  Eve  looked 
at  her  cousin  timorously,  shy  at  the  thought  of 
witnessing  the  distress  that  might  be  visible 
there.  She  need  not  have  feared.  At  the 
moment,  the  girl's  profile  was  as  calm  as  ever, 
then  she  faced  Eve  suddenly  and  showed  the 
tragedy  of  her  eyes. 

"  I  suppose  I've  been  learning  all  these  months 
without  knowing  it,"  she  went  on.  '*  I  expect 
I  must  have  been  changing  and  getting  to  under- 
stand, for,  Eve,  when  I  saw  him  I  suddenly 
realised  what  I'd  done.  It  just  swept  over  me 
in  a  big  wave,  and  I  couldn't  do  anything  but 
just  sit  there  and  listen  to  him  talking  to  John. 
He  was  frightened  of  me,  and  that  made  me  not 
frightened  of  him.  He  was  afraid  I'd  tell,  and 
for  a  minute  or  two  I  thought  I'd  have  to,  in 
spite  of  what  you  advised  me,  but  when  he  said 
he  was  going  to  be  married,  I  decided  I  mustn't 
go  and  spoil  another  girl's  chance  of  happiness. 
For  I  expect  he  will  be  good  to  her.  He  prob- 


300        THE  UNKNOWN   STEERSMAN 

ably  understands  her.  He  didn't  understand 
me,  but  then  I  didn't  understand  myself  either, 
and  haven't,  till  now." 

She  had  spoken  haltingly,  even,  it  would  seem, 
with  more  difficulty  than  on  the  night  of  her 
first  confession.  Eve  remembered  her  idle 
playing  with  James,  the  careless  demeanour  of 
that  night  once  the  difficulty  of  beginning  was 
over.  Now  Celia  sat  bowed  over  the  writing- 
table,  her  hands  tormenting  each  other  in  useless 
passion.  Something  had  wrought  this  emotional 
change.  Meekly  Eve  hoped  it  was  due  in  some 
small  part  to  her  unceasing  toil,  which,  until 
to-day,  had  appeared  so  barren  of  result.  Her 
feminine  sense  of  humour  did  not  allow  her  to 
smile  at  the  idea  of  French  and  German  classics 
as  instruments  of  some  vague  celestial  surgeon 
to  stab  Celia  wide  awake.  She  had  done  her 
best,  and  waited  now  until  she  should  find  the 
right  words  to  speak  of  the  result.  For  the 
moment  she  was  still  dumb,  but  her  continued 
silence  did  not  weigh  on  Celia's  nerves. 

Half  to  herself,  half  to  the  silent  woman 
at  her  side,  Celia  went  on  thinking  aloud. 

"  Not  having  any  mother  makes  a  fearful  lot 
of  difference,"  she  said.  "  I  often  used  to  wish 
we  worshipped  the  Virgin  Mary  down  in  Fendyke. 
God  always  seemed  so  masculine  and  un- 
approachable for  a  girl." 

Church-going  had  dropped  out  of  Eve's  life 
after  her  first  year  in  India.  She  had  taken  up 


THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN        301 

the  habit  again  in  a  shamefaced  manner  as  a 
part  of  her  scheme  of  redemption.  Celia's  words 
sounded  shocking,  almost  blasphemous,  to  her 
mind  unaccustomed  to  the  discussion  of  any 
religious  topic.  The  feeling  of  shock  did  her 
good,  for  it  put  words  into  her  mouth,  breaking 
her  stony  silence. 

"  Celia,  dear,"  she  began,  "  I  wish  you 
wouldn't  talk  in  that  strain.  And  I  don't  think 
you  must  brood  over  the  past,  you've  got  the 
future  before  you;  it  will  take  all  your  pluck 
and  all  your  strength  to  work  things  out  without 
looking  back  too  much.  I  am  glad  you  met  him 
last  night,  glad  you  realise  what  you  did.  You 
were  callous,  you  know,  the  night  you  told  me. 
You've  softened  now,  and  you  feel  and  know 
many  things  that  were  outside  your  under- 
standing before.  It's  very  difficult  to  see  how 
some  things  work  out.  Being  bad  seems  to  have 
given  you  a  chance  to  grow  into  a  good  woman 
instead  of  staying  an  idle,  egoistic  child." 

She  stopped,  half  shocked  at  the  implication 
of  her  own  words,  but  Celia,  wrapped  in  the 
contemplation  of  her  wonderful  idea  of  last 
night's  growth,  had  scarcely  listened. 

'*  It  must  be  lovely  to  have  a  mother,"  Celia 
went  on,  continuing  her  own  line  of  thought  as 
though  her  cousin  had  not  spoken.  "  But  even 
more  wonderful  than  having  a  mother  is  being 
one.  I  hope  when  I'm  married  I'll  have  a 
daughter  just  as  soon  as  possible,  and  then  I'll 


302        THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN 

work  so  hard  to  get  her  right  in  all  the  ways  I 
was  wrong  in,  and  perhaps  God  will  be  satisfied 
then." 

An  irrepressible  smile  brightened  Eve's  eyes. 
The  child  was  such  a  child  still,  in  spite  of  her 
experience.  A  warning  not  to  brood  on  the  past 
would  pass  but  lightly  over  the  head  of  a  young 
woman  who  was  even  now  contemplating  the 
future  education  of  unborn  daughters. 

"  Can  I  be  married  quite  soon,  Eve?  "  she 
went  on  eagerly.  "  John  asked  me  last  night 
how  much  longer  we  are  to  wait."  She  turned 
to  her  cousin,  and  with  a  sudden  gust  of 
affection  threw  her  arms  round  her  shoulders. 
"  Don't  think  I  haven't  seen,  you  dear,  beautiful 
Eve,"  she  cried.  "  I  know  you've  been  trying  to 
teach  me  and  train  me  up  to  be  good  enough  for 
John.  But  I  think  that's  finished  now.  Not 
that  I'll  ever  be  good  enough  really,  but  I  don't 
think  I'll  ever  get  any  further  until  I  can  offer 
that  daughter  of  my  own  in  place  of  what  I 
ought  to  have  been." 

Eve's  smile  still  sat  in  her  eyes,  though  she 
tried  to  keep  her  lips  steady. 

"  As  you  feel  like  that,"  she  said  gravely 
enough,  "  there  is  evidently  no  need  to  postpone 
your  wedding  any  longer.  .We  will  talk  it  over 
with  Denis  and  John  to-night.  You'd  better 
telephone  and  ask  him  to  dinner." 

Celia  sprang  to  her  feet  and  danced  towards 
the  doorway,  her  facile  spirit  gay  again.  For  a 


THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN        303 

few  minutes  Eve  sat  in  her  place  by  the  writing- 
table,  pondering  Celia  in  her  mind.  Remem- 
bering the  tragedy  in  her  eyes  she  wondered 
how  much  the  girl  really  felt,  and  was  amused 
in  spite  of  herself,  at  the  na'ive  plan  for  future 
rehabilitation.  Then  she  rose  and  flung  her  arms 
wide,  as  though  she  cast  aside  her  heavy  burden. 
"  Athalie,"  "  Maria  Stuart,"  and  the  notebooks 
cumbered  the  writing-table.  With  an  impulse 
of  unholy  relief  she  swept  them  pell-mell  into 
the  waste -paper  basket.  Culture  was  tiring  and 
had  served  its  turn. 


CHAPTER    XXXIII 

THAT  evening  the  family  conclave  decided  that 
Celia's  help  was  no  longer  essential  to  Eve's 
welfare.  Eve  sat  by,  smiling  unseen  at  the  dis- 
cussion, fully  aware  that  John  had  thought  her 
actions  selfish,  and  that  even  her  husband  was 
slightly  surprised  at  the  gentle  firmness  with 
which  she  had  discouraged  wedding  plans. 

Thankfully  now  she  was  prepared  to  entrust 
Celia  to  wiser,  firmer  hands  than  her  own.  Even 
more  thankfully  she  looked  forward  to  the  quiet 
hours  to  be  spent  in  learning  perfect  under- 
standing with  Denis.  It  was  true  that  Celia 
had,  unconsciously,  brought  husband  and  wife 
together,  but  she  was  keeping  them  apart  now, 
the  unnecessary  third  that  marred  complete 
union . 

Thus  it  happened  that  everybody  was  pleased 
and  only  perfunctory  murmurs  received  the 
bridegroom's  eager  suggestions  of  early  dates. 
He  gained  his  will,  and  for  a  week  or  two  the 
women  worked  swiftly  at  filling  up  the  gaps  in 
the  trousseau  which  had  lain  idly  in  piled  boxes 
up  in  Celia's  room. 

304 


THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN        305 

Very  soon  it  came  to  the  day  before  the 
wedding.  That  night  Eve  lay  awake  miserably 
uncertain  whether  she  should  go  to  Celia's  room 
or  not.  She  did  not  want  these  last  hours  to  be 
clouded  by  remembrance.  The  past  was  wiped 
out  and  she  had  no  lore  to  help  the  future,  so 
that  she  felt  she  could  do  no  good.  No  one 
could  help  Celia  now  except  the  Steersman. 
Unknown,  indeed,  he  had  been.  Even  now, 
when  she  realised  his  existence,  she  knew  dimly 
that  he  was  not  the  God  of  the  Hebrews,  knew 
that  he  visited  no  sins  of  fathers  on  children. 
In  her  feminine  anthropomorphic  fashion  she 
had  a  sudden  vision  of  him  as  a  golden - 
bearded,  blue -eyed  spirit  guiding  a  frail  little 
boat  into  its  haven.  And  with  that  she  fell 
asleep. 

Celia  came  to  her  bridal  with  a  serene  face 
beneath  the  veiling  lace  she  wore.  Her  sheaf 
of  lilies  lay  along  her  arm,  and  did  not  tremble 
even  when  she  faced  the  altar  with  John  at  her 
side.  .With  clear  softness  her  responses  sounded 
through  the  chancel.  The  bridegroom's  people 
thought  her  charming,  but  rather  too  self- 
possessed.  His  mother  wore  a  resigned  look 
and  had  not  troubled  to  buy  a  new  frock.  She 
did  not  think  the  alliance  worth  it. 

"  Not  a  penny,  my  dear,"  she  confided  in  a 

loud   whisper  to  a  fellow-guest  in   their   front 

pew  of  honour.     "  Not  a  penny,  and  that  cousin 

of   hers   is   just  recovering  from   plague.      Not 

20 


306        THE  UNKNOWN   STEERSMAN 

a  European  disease  at  all.  I  believe  those  poor 
neglected  natives  die  of  it  in  thousands,  but 
nobody  one  knows  ever  gets  it." 

The  reception,  held  in  a  hotel,  was  exactly 
like  any  other  wedding  reception.  The  Indian 
Civilians  home  on  leave  clotted  together  in 
corners,  wearing  frock-coats  of  weird  cut,  and 
talked  of  districts  and  secretariats.  Each 
clutched  the  silk  hat  he  had  bought  on  joining 
the  Civil  Service  years  ago.  One  could  fix  a 
man's  year  by  the  curl  of  a  brim,  unless,  indeed, 
he  came  from  the  Bengal  side,  where  no  brim 
retains  any  curl.  (Only  Calcutta  merchants 
can  afford  two  silk  hats  in  a  lifetime.)  They 
paid  not  the  slightest  attention  either  to  bride 
or  groom,  but  vied  in  cheery  reminiscences  of 
plague  and  famine  years,  studded  with  dates  and 
initials . 

Dressed  for  the  most  part  in  biscuit -coloured 
tussore,  their  wives  exchanged  memories  of 
Christmas  camps  and  scandals,  while  they  noted, 
for  future  guidance,  the  smart  costumes  of  the 
bridegroom's  share  of  the  guests.  Connie  Young 
was  there  looking  even  more  accentuated  than 
ever.  It  was  curious  that  although  she  remained 
slim,  she  gave  one  the  idea  of  possessing 
exuberant  outlines.  She  had  meant  to  condole 
with  Eve,  intending  to  suck  a  sly  pleasure  out 
of  her  friend's  defeat,  but  unexpectedly  she 
happened  to  catch  an  interchanged  glance 
between  husband  and  wife,  and  knew  in  a 


THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN        307 

moment  that  their  relations  were  completely 
altered. 

"Mrs.  Lang  has  taken  my  advice,"  she  told 
herself,  "  and  gone  back  to  flirting  with  her 
husband.  He's  so  good-looking,  it  can't  be  so 
dull  as  it  sounds."  She  sighed  a  little  at  the 
thought  of  her  own  husband's  contours,  then 
relapsed  noisily  into  her  latest  "  interest,"  who 
was  callow,  but  all  one  could  expect  at  a 
wedding  reception. 

Presently  Celia  went  to  change  her  dress. 
After  a  few  minutes  Eve  dismissed  the  chatter- 
ing, hindering  helpers,  and  put  the  bride  into 
her  travelling  dress  with  her  own  hands.  Even 
when  they  were  alone  their  talk  was  but  of  the 
guests  and  their  costumes  and  presents. 

At  length  Celia  was  ready.  She  stood  looking 
at  herself  in  the  long  glass,  charmed  with  her 
own  image. 

"  I  think  this  is  even  prettier  than  my 
wedding-dress,"  she  said  complacently,  raising 
her  eyes  to  meet  Eve's  in  the  mirror.  What 
she  saw  there  shivered  her  complacency  to 
atoms.  She  whirled  round  from  the  glass  and 
caught  her  cousin  almost  fiercely  by  the  elbows. 

"  Celia  Ferriby  is  dead,"  she  said  swiftly. 
"  She  died  to-day  in  church.  But  Celia  Stani- 
forth  is  alive,  and  everything  is  going  to  be 
quite  different." 

Her  fierceness  dropped,  from  her  as  suddenly 
as  it  had  come.  For  a  moment  the  two  women 


308        THE   UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN 

clung  to  each  other.  Then  they  went  out  and 
faced  the  waiting  guests.  The  last  goodbyes 
were  soon  over  ;  the  car,  ready  at  the  door, 
received  the  smiling  pair.  A  hum  of  machinery, 
a  tempest  of  goodbyes,  and  Celia  glided  swiftly 
away  out  of  Eve's  life. 


CHAPTER    XXXIV 

"  I'VE  got  something  of  a  confession  to  make 
to  you/1  said  Mrs.  Cunningham,  gazing  out  over 
the  waveless  blue  of  the  Indian  Ocean. 

"Confession?"  repeated  Eve  lazily  from 
her  deck-chair.  They  were  outward  bound 
again,  leave  over,  and  work  to  be  faced. 

"-  Yes,  confession.  You  talked  rather  when 
you  were  ill,  and  I  gathered  something,  too 
much,  from  your  delirious  bursts." 

Eve  sat  up  with  fear  in  her  eyes.  "Did  I 
talk  intelligibly?  "  she  asked. 

"  I  understood,"  hesitated  Ethel,  "  because  I 
was  partly  behind  the  scenes,  but  I  am  quite 
sure  nobody  else  did.  If  the  two  Minto  nurses 
gathered  anything,  they  are  both  to  be  trusted, 
they  were  splendid  young  women.  But  I  don't 
suppose  they  did.  You  see,  Celia'  was  away 
all  the  while  ;  it  was  I  who  persuaded  your 
husband  to  keep  her  away  until  you  were 
beginning  to  get  better." 

"  That's  why  you  wouldn't  come  to  the 
wedding,  I  suppose?  "  said  Eve  slowly. 

"  Partly  \  not  altogether.  I  never  liked  Celia, 
you  know.  From  the  first  I  thought  her  a 


310        THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN 

cold-blooded  little  egoist,  who  just  took  what 
she  wanted  with  abominable  calm.  You  were 
far  too  good  to  her." 

"- 1  wasn't.  I  neglected  her  for  months.  And 
now  I  owe  her  everything."  Eve  gazed  thought- 
fully at  the  unruffled  liquid  turquoise  that  slipped 
past  the  netted  rails.  "  I  don't  really  believe 
in  heredity,"  she  went  on.  "•  There  must  be 
something  outside  us,  guiding  us.  Look  what  a 
good  start  I  had,  everything  was  in  my  favour. 
Celia's  people  were  impossible,  and  she  came 
straight  from  her  fen -country  into  the  useless 
idle  life  which  was  all  I  bothered  to  offer  her. 
She  never  had  a  chance.  Yet  it  was  only 
through  Celia  that  I  came  back  to  Denis.  Her 
poor  little  story  taught  me  that  I  had  a  soul 
somewhere.  So,  if  the  sins  of  her  fathers  were 
visited  on  any  one,  they  were  visited  on  me  and 
for  good,  not  evil.  I'm  not  sure  about  Celia. 
I  can't  understand  her.  Vital  things  don't  seem 
to  affect  her  for  long  at  a  time.  Perhaps  she 
is  too  young.  She  picks  up  episodes  as  though 
they  were  china  and  she  a  collector.  When  she 
puts  them  down  again  she  knows  all  about  their 
colour  and  shape,  and  is  delighted  or  disgusted 
with  them,  as  the  case  may  be.  The  china  is 
put  back,  and  Celia  goes  on  with  clean  hands 
to  the  next  shelf.  If  she  hasn't  liked  any  event 
in  her  life,  she  doesn't  keep  it,  doesn't  store  it 
up  on  her  mental  shelves.  If  it  suits  her,  the 
episode  with  Captain  Riplingham  will  be  set 


THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN        311 

aside.  She  knows  how  wrong  she  was,  and 
though  she  intends  to  be  good  now,  she  will 
be  able  to  forget  the  incident  that  put  her  on 
the  right  track.  I'm  not  so  strong-minded  as 
that.  I  can't  set  things  aside ;  what  I  pass 
through  leaves  marks,  so  that  my  mind  is  a  very 
splodge  of  colours.  There's  a  lot  of  black  I've 
got  to  wipe  away." 

Ethel  had  listened  with  interest.  Now  she 
sat  up  in  her  deck-chair  and  faced  Eve  abruptly. 

"  I  want  to  give  you  a  word  of  advice,"  she 
said,  "  if  you  will  take  it.  You  are  just  in  the 
mood  to  go  into  emotional  extremes,  such  a 
feminine  trick.  You  accuse  yourself  of  having 
been  a  sinner  ;  for  Heaven's  sake  don't  turn 
into  a  saint  if  you  mean  to  keep  Denis.  Most 
men  are  bored  to  tears  by  saints.  So  am  I. 
Being  slightly  wicked  yourself  makes  you  kinder 
to  sinners,  but  more  suspicious  of  saints  ;  kinder 
to  sinners  because  you  realise  that  though  quite 
a  good  sort  yourself,  it  is  easy  to  go  wrong 
without  intending  it  one  scrap,  and  suspicious  of 
saints  because  you  can't  understand  how  they 
do  it,  and  there  must  be  something  wrong 
somewhere." 

"It  is  a  pity  your  diction  isn't  as  neat  as 
your  personal  appearance,"  laughed  Eve.  "  But 
I  see  your  point,  and  I'll  promise  not  to  worry 
Denis  by  growing  into  a  dowd  or  locking  up 
the  wine,  or  getting  saint -like  in  any  other  irri- 
tating manner.  We  understand  each  other  now. 


312        THE   UNKNOWN    STEERSMAN 

I  know  life  will  be  a  little  difficult  sometimes. 
Responsibility  is  so  complex  in  India  if  you 
shoulder  any  of  it  at  all.  But  I  mean  to  win 
through  in  the  end." 

Silence  fell  on  the  two  women.  Their  part 
of  the  ship  was  almost  deserted.  From  the  lower 
deck  came  the  happy  yells  of  the  "  bean -bag  " 
players,  mingled  with  the  occasional  plop  of 
miscaught  bags.  Right  astern  the  sun  dropped 
into  an  opal  sea  that  held  in  its  calm  bosom 
the  gold  and  green  and  purple  of  the  wider 
sky. 

In  the  saloon  some  one  was  singing  Kipling's 
gorgeous  poem,  '*  For  to  Admire,"  the  poem 
that  should  always  be  sung  at  sunset  in  the 
Indian  Ocean. 

"I've  paid  the  price  for  finding  out," 
rang  the  clear  tenor, 

"Nor  never  grudged  the  price  I  paid." 

'*  There's  a  new  r61e  for  both  of  us,"  laughed 
Ethel,  when  the  last  notes  died  into  silence, 

"Admirin*  'ow  the  world  was  made." 

"  Here  comes  my  husband  from  his  bridge  to 
take  me  for  a  stroll  before  the  dressing-gong 
goes,"  said  Eve  happily.  She  smiled  up  into 
her  husband's  eyes  as  he  helped  her  from  the 
long  chair. 


THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN        313 

Gradually  he  was  learning  the  valueless  little 
attentions  which  mean  so  much  to  a  woman. 

The  evening  wore  on.  She  said  good-night 
to  her  little  son,  gazing  for  a  few  minutes  at 
his  wonderful  charms.  And  presently  another 
day  had  slid  behind  them  into  the  sea,  and  the 
ship  settled  to  sleep. 

The  nights  were  warm  and  most  people  slept 
on  deck.  An  orderly  row  of  mattresses  was 
stretched,  white  on  the  white  boards,  when  Eve 
left  her  cabin  and  passed  up  the  companion  to 
the  starboard  side  where  the  women  lay.  Before 
she  counted  her  way  along  to  the  place  assigned 
to  her  mattress,  she  stood  at  the  rail  and  looked 
out  across  the  sea. 

The  ship,  changed  by  the  night's  alchemy, 
was  no  longer  a  mere  throbbing  shell  of  steel 
and  iron,  but  a  sentient  being.  Wiitchlike  she 
slipped  furtively  through  the  swift  black  night, 
her  noiseless  keel  cleaving  the  sea-floor's  black 
marble  into  broken  glints  of  silver.  The  fairy 
sloop  that  was  the  moon  swam  in  lucent  pools 
of  sky.  She  was  setting,  her  course  nearly 
run.  With  stopped  breath  Eve  watched  the 
golden  keel  sail  for  a  moment  on  the  horizon's 
edge,  then  sink  beneath  it,  until  suddenly 
even  the  level  golden  horns  went  out  into 
darkness. 

Eve  put  off  her  dressing-gown  and  welcomed 
the  warm  caress  of  the  breeze  on  her  arms  and 
neck.  She  was  snatched  for  ever  from  her 


314        THE  UNKNOWN  STEERSMAN 

narrow  point  of  vantage,  made  free  for  always 
of  the  naked  beauty  of  sea  and  sky,  shut  eyes 
opened,  the  dry  fountain  unsealed. 

Through  her  tears  she  looked  up  at  the 
lambent  stars,  rendering  thanks  to  the  Unknown 
Steersman  who  had  shown  her  this  thing  also — 
the  endless  beauty  of  his  sea. 


THE    END 


UNWIN  BROTHERS,  LIMITED,  THE  GRESHAH  PRESS,  WOKING  AXD  LONDON 


SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


A     000035856    4 


